A poem by me… it ain’t like award winning or anything, just something I wrote… and wanted to preserve so here it is.
Week after week,
I do something I hate doing
something I really don’t want to do,
something I wish I didn’t have to do.
I set out my seven two-sided pill boxes
and load them up.
Iron for the anemia.
Zyrtec, the current favored antihistamine for my allergies.
A probiotic for a happy vaginal system.
Metformin because in my 40s my body decided: diabetes.
Pristiq for my two forms of depression that want me dead.
More Pristiq, because even the normal max dose wasn’t enough.
Buspar for the double anxiety, go big or go home eh?
Gabapentin to help the other two work even harder.
The levothyroxine for my underperforming thyroid
stays alone to take first thing, on waking in the morning.
Underperforming:
words us “gifted kids” turned adults know so well.
Week after week, I refill these boxes I hate.
Day after day, twice a day, I do something I hate.
I take out the pills from their assigned compartments.
I throw them back, all at once
and I take my fucking meds.
I hate the pills,
I hate taking meds,
I hate needing them.
But I do it,
twice a day,
every day,
to keep the shit fairies quieter.
I do it so I don’t have to hear my brain
telling me what a piece of shit I am on constant repeat.
I do it so I can spend time with my loved ones
without being a wet mop.
I do it so I can go to the store by myself
without scratching my arm or squeezing some poor cart to death.
I do it so I can play my games,
read my books,
write my words,
pet my furkids—
without wondering why I exist.
I do it so I can be strong
for my adopteds,
my partner,
my aging dad.
I do it so I don’t wish I was dead
more often than I laugh and love life.
Week after week, I do something I hate.
Twice a day, I do something I hate even more
So that minute by minute the thing I hate less is me