Curls (an acrostic poem)

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Cutting her hair, at one time, would make her cry. It was such a horrible experience

Utter fear would grip her upon sitting in the chair knowing she was at the mercy of the hairdresser

Red hair ringlets defined the core of who she was and were her pride and joy, so she was so particular

Letting the electric razor zoom across her scalp, she smiled.

Suck it, cancer! She would grow back stronger.

Grip (an acrostic poem)

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Giving up and letting go of reality

Realizing being delusional is so much easier to cope

If you think about it, though, that is so scary to do

Perhaps It might be better to hold on for dear life