Long Depressants Poems
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I want to cry. I long to smile.
Some feeling to wash over me for a while.
Scrolling, relentlessly with my thumb.
Every other part of my body and mind, numb.
'Life is for living', that's what they said.
On the days I was thankful just to exit my bed.
Chasing some feelings locked in a screen.
Staring mundanely at an imaginary dream.
Opportunities abundant. Adventures galore.
Making my bed is a tortuous chore.
Insufferable details. Daily life lessons.
I'll get to those after my anti-depressants.
Getting through the day with a 'comfortably fine'.
No highs. No lows. Simply passing the time.
I want to cry. I want to feel joy.
That ship has left port. Raise the anchor. Ahoy.
Prozac Nation, dated September 8th, 2001
became the film that reminded some that
these days that we live in, with cell phones
that make us capable of connecting in a flash
mean we've broken our pencils and torn up
our stationary where letters once were dashed
off of the tops of our heads and sent on
with sentiments read by bifocaled heads
of grandparents who would soon be dead
yet were there for the time, there to remind us
why we're alive and we're living in a time
of Prozac and Ambian and some form of Xanax
We've become a people dependent on our drugs
where we once depended on our minds, our hearts,
the souls that sought out Jesus instead of
the cluttered cabinets of painkillers and anti-depressants,
everything that seems to replace the true person
with a desensitized, artificial, contrived individual
only surviving the times with stockpiles of prescriptions
Chopped Updated - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
It's time for Christmas trees
and bright lights.
No Christmas color here,
my world black N white.
Sunny Southern Cali,
No chance of snow,
No Santa this year,
he has no get up and go.
Broke no money;
to buy gifts and presents,
I think I might need,
some Anti- depressants.
No stuffing of stockings,
going on here,
Just another lonely day,
will play it by ear.
No smiles, no laughter,
silence thru out the house,
I'm cold and lonely,
and poor as a mouse.
No frosty the snowman,
outside my window sill,
Isolation and loneliness,
the coldness of a chill.
No cookies, no fudge,
no Christmas pie,
No Saint Nick,
or a twinkling of an eye.
My sisters and friends,
make sure I have some gifts,
They stop by,
my spirit they try to lift.
All I can say,
it's been one hell of a year,
I dug down deep,
can't find my Christmas cheer.
I say the sooner the year,
is over the better,
This is my Christmas,
Dear John Letter.
TURBO1904
When I was thirteen years young, I filleted my upper right thigh.
47 times.
In one night.
In one hour.
I wrote suicide notes,
Every night.
I folded them up and put them in a drawer where the hid.
Similar to the thoughts in the back cabinet of my mind.
Dusty and untouched by the ears of any but my own, I rip them apart.
Showing my emotions was always difficult.
But so was showing them.
So I hid my scars, along with the rest of my body. I had become a being of pure collagen.
I festered over myself to become whoever those who were around me had wanted me to be.
I folded under such slight pressure, a gust of wind could have put me away for months at a time.
I was a Petri dish for one of God’s unexplained.
Marching into every day like a virus in a new repertory system, “Hello, here I am!” And “No I don’t think meds will help...”
So I had quit taking them.
The anti depressants.
The sleeping medication.
The meds you take the morning after sleeping medication, to deactivate those sleeping pills, so that you’re at least awake to be numb.
I stopped taking them, because I felt sympathy for factory machines.
They’re told how to run.
When to be off, when to be on, and the second they are off when they should be on, something is presumed to be wrong.
I felt shame inject itself into my cardiovascular. I felt it coursing through my veins.
I saw it
in my hands
the night I introduced my flesh to an eyeliner sharpeners blade.
What they don’t tell you when you start medication, is that your brain senses this new and regular source of this chemical, and stops producing it.
So I, was a literal wreck.
I cut everyone toxic out of my life very quickly.
I took my antidepressant.
I gave myself time to heal.
I figured out what kind of person I wanted to be.
Kind
Forgiving
Brave
And I brought her to life.
My devilish mausoleum painted
with bloodcurdling remains
Cobweb gives spine-tingling
in mummified body
Tonyx
The knowledge of necromancy
- unknown X ?
Macabre beasts, tyrannize
a world of exorcism
Anti depressants !
The galaxy grows cold and poor
GoRe, gorE ... GoOOOre
- destroy the planet
Haunted xanadu didilduX
Excuse me but I have to ask,
I may not always love you,
Just a coffee please, thanks very much,
It’s not always good news you know,
What’s that band I like?
I’m sitting here beside five identities,
each spouting words across a table.
I dreamt that I wrote a sonnet for you,
ten beats too many, any less too few.
Your words are like pearls
draped around my neck,
but I tied them too tight
and now I can’t even scream.
are you only here because you want something?
but you know I’ll always be truthful,
and can I get a broadsheet with that?
i’ve been seeing this doctor for months now and,
you know, that ‘bulletproof’ song they did,
On our first night together
you asked me to give you my body.
My skin trembled with images of the past,
and tears sweated across my face.
If I had a single promise from you
I’d get up, but I’ve been so confused.
Sleeping only leads me into dreams of you
but being awake makes me weep.
i’m not sure if I can trust you anymore.
you can always count on me for anything.
oh, no, no chocolate on the top, thank you.
i’ve been put on a course of anti depressants.
Radiohead!
If I spoke to these ‘others’
would they care that I tried to kill myself?
The world is forever wrapped up in itself
and I’m a drowning island, as yet uncharted.
My round white anti-depressants
were trying their faithful best
to listen to my ecofeminist
wise old woman
gardening neighbor,
pulling aggressive weeds
Sharing with me
her morning meditation reflection
immediately after entering dawning eyes
and before exiting her dreamy
comforting
fertile bed
Her opening
and excavating self-invitation
to choose body health nutrition
and mind happiness nurturing
which are snugly associated
for her
like peas and carrots
remembering well-versed voice
intention
But,
not so much for me,
now able to choose health
almost every dawning day
and dusky night
but still struggling
for post-traumatic omnipotence
to thrive toward happiness
by empowered choice,
even if not enlightened voice
articulating all the many thankful ways
remembering well-cultivated rejoice.
What my gardening neighbor
and I speak of
feels like my dull
and darkly present
spatial stuck unchanging place
Which she
unlike me
can also remember
as having evolved through time
from current EarthTribe regenerating days
becoming nurturing seasons
within each annual surviving incarnation
Reversing on back toward warm
welcoming first dawn light's
empowering MotherEarth's
thriving
flowing
flowering invitation
to each day's rebirth.
It is what is coded on my DNA
It is the rhythm of my heartbeat
It is what is engraved on my soul
It is what is written in my anthology
It is my medicine
"MEDICINE "
Yeah, I think that is the perfect word to describe what art means to me
For all the times I felt the urge to down my anti-depressants with alcohol
But chose to bleed on pages instead
For all the times I wanted to curse God for all my pain
But decided to turn my prayers into a poem instead
For the time art kept me company in the midst of my dark hours
For that one time when music bandaged my wounds
And when Phora's album made me feel like I had a companion
Like I an not the only one experiencing this hell
Art saved me