To Medicate or Self Medicate in Pastels
A dilemma, physician’s office,
pre-dates a pandemic by just some weeks.
Nervous ass crinkles paper. Ghost Sophists
of panic-attacks-past harass what leaks
through ducts, expelled wet truths upon cheeks, tears
thin paper, freckled fists attempting to resist
the gravity of pain, its endless drips. Despair
you can’t restrain before the blonde internist,
who looks like your Barbie dolls — is that why
you confess it all — nights you cry yourself
to sleep, indignities you push inside
as deep as pastel kitchen knives, bookshelf
of broken hymen hymns scribbled, first, at five
about sad men who swallow you like pills,
self medicating like you never will.
Author’s Note: This is the story of me deciding to take help offered to me from my doctor for my anxiety/depression. It’s changed my life immensely. My abuser did not take medication that he required and it is one more way I’m proud to be different then him.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of seventeen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Crow Carriage (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), The Meadow (APEP Publications) and Golden Ticket from Roaring Junior Press. She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com
You must be logged in to post a comment.