twenty hundred hundreds - ELISE DAI-LIU '28

My hair is falling out

in the shower, so thick I can grab it in two hands

on my test, covering the numbers so I trip

on the floor, trailing behind as I stumble the halls under my backpack

on my clothes, when I change four times a day

on my pillow, when I wake up as soon as I fall asleep

in my hands, as I brush and pin it tightly

in my drinks, when I gulp them down furiously

in my eyes, when I'm trying to stay awake

everywhere.

There is still

so much hair left for me to tear out

and so many strands I said goodbye to

but there is 

so little life in my head left

to let anything else grow.

My brain is empty

just like 

my head will be when I turn

twenty.