Sickness & Rot
- Celeste Salopek
- Jul 6
- 2 min read
When I cut my hair off, I thought I looked sick.
Under all the sticky-up blonde was just sickness, and death.
I thought about returning to the places I’d left but realized I couldn’t or I’d encounter sickness and death.
Community is impossible to create in a place that can’t retain it. Where people stay and always go.
Life is nestled in between two families -- life locked.
Hair falls out when your adrenals start to drain it.
Follicles nestled into rot.
No one can stay, and then you also must go. A shame to be left out, a shame to be left alone.
I am sick of being there, I am sick of wearing underwear, I am sick of looking at rectangular squares and cranes.
I look out of my window, every single day, but still a tree there is not. All the aluminum is hot, and it glows in the summer. And with me a lover is not!
I only stayed for the summer because of my lover, but only I remain.
My lover was a bummer who got in the way, and now I am forced to stay.
I shaved off my hair because of the summer
And because it held memories.
It’ll grow back one day, but I hope it delays.
I’m not ready for my full power.
And the dread of my memories.
The sickness can stay.
It keeps the bad ones away.
And I know it will help me get better.
I’m sorry you're dismayed.
I won’t stop anyway.
I am dedicated to getting better.
When I knew I was gay,
I was too scared away, from the prospect of living my life in a gutter.
My family wasn’t gay, and they would have been dismayed.
So I kept this part of me undercover.
Now that my family’s not here, I can finally be queer.
I wonder why I am not.
But when I shaved off my hair, I did find there, a piece of me that was starting to rot.
Oh no it’s not fair, it really is not.
But I really hope I can care. Because if I do not, I’m afraid that this rot.
Will spread beneath the covers.
28 in the grave, not because of death but due to irreversible decay.
Not a woman or part of any type of institution.
Just an irreverent female left to rot.
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