it's raining hair
in my room again.
an inch of thick brown hair that no one will ever miss
falls to the floor in clumps
as i read.

it's raining hair
in class again.
the rubber bands, the silly putty, the clicky pen -
no match for the itch in my hands to
pull
pull
pull
until i'm calm again.

it's raining hair
on my bed again.
all i need is that one eyelash,
i swear.
it's short, it's sharp, it doesn't belong.
just one, and i promise i'll stop.
one more,
and the itch has won.
one more,
and the damage is done.

it's raining hair
over my sink again
'cause my eyebrows needed a trim.
this time i'll behave, mom, i'll make sure it won't get out of hand.
just let me get rid of that one there
and i promise this time i'll keep all my hair.

the rain stops and the sun comes out,
revealing the effects of the storm.
it's horrifying, it's disgusting,
and i'm repulsed i stooped so low -
don't i know it'll take weeks to re-grow?
so i vow to refrain,
but the itch drives me insane -
tomorrow's forecast calls for rain.


Author's Note: In case anyone is wondering - yes, I do have trichotillomania (the "hair-pulling disease"), a chemical imbalance in the brain that can be characterized as a habit, an addiction, a tic disorder, or an OCD. No one knows for sure. But it's an incredibly hard habit to break: I've had it for over four years and haven't been able to stop for more than a few months at a time.