Beautiful - Written and Performed by Nell Sanders HD

A poem written and performed by Nell Sanders. - Beautiful - She was beautiful. The immediate fact that blessed itself. Breathless with a cluster of freckles trailing up to her eyelids. She had potential walking up and down her cheeks. Her almond eyes were bright as sea. Three hairs on her head with an expanse of soft skin. She peered at me behind her mother’s leg. 5 or 6 years old maybe. I was at a conference composed of barren heads, where I was just another unfertilized seed in the crowd. In front of me stood a thirty year old woman whose worry wrinkles painted a mirage of memories to come. The woman held her daughter’s hand like an IV, injecting security. She asked me, “Is my daughter going to be okay growing up?”. I won’t ever forget the light brown skin, almond lids and sea eyes that found a common connection within me. All bald girls live the same life, or so I’ve been told. The mold we fit in, plagued with doctor’s appointments and claustrophobic wigs. It’s the same for each of us. The never-ending questioning, the loss of identities, the back alley bullies. The pressure to hide the disorder that is only seen as a cosmetology issue. So I reached out to the child and asked her if she wanted to touch my head. “I promise It’s very soft,” I said. In that moment I made a subconscious decision. I didn’t want to live the typical example of the bald girl anymore. Didn’t want to live the life of a crumbling facade. Because I knew what it was like to grow up with a troubling diffidence that used to gnaw at the bone. The constant feeling of being a deer caught in a mine of headlights. Still as stone, faking confidence as fear spun out of control. And I know what it’s like to hate the medium your soul inhabits. I know what it’s like to stare at a mirror confusing your figure for a monster. I have been there. When your mind has a way of turning imperfections into self-harm weapons. I have been there! With the media’s obsession with appearance these days, it makes is harder for kids to face the mirror and see the amazement hiding under a maze of self inflicted judgements. Haven’t we all been there? It seems the constant focus is on changing the way we look. If only our flaws disappeared with a puff of smoke. Then we’d be happy. Right? Then we’d be happy. I don’t think so. I have been alive for 17 years on this planet, with Alopecia for 15 and a half. I have gone through every treatment you can imagine. Every pill every potion. Even topical ointments. I have felt the wrath of doctors with stethoscope nooses loosely choking me. I’ve sat in chairs with women handing me different samples of hair so one day I could be pretty. I’ve been called a novel of nicknames. In 5th grade I was called eyebrows. That was the year my last eyebrow hair fell out. But the trials and tribulations were worth it. If I could’ve told that little girl one more thing, I would have begged, “Wear your flaws on your sleeve and heart of armor on your chest. And ne