Of All The Stories I've Written, I Share With You, Stranger, These Few

Little Blue and White Capsules

It's the feeling
when that
little blue and white capsule
sticks to the back of my throat,
and I am left unable to eat
because the taste of that little
blue and white capsule
should have left me
before it even arrived to my taste buds.

These
little blue and white capsules,
with my name plastered
on the white sticker
on the orange bottle,
a shiny tell on the fact that
I am not okay.

Two hundred dollars
for a thirty day supply
on those
little blue and white capsules,
leaving a sticky and sick feeling
in my stomach and throat throughout the day, because I can't eat at six in the morning,
but I force myself
to swallow tasteless eggs and dry sausage
so that I can mask my not okayness
for another forty five minutes.

Not that it matters, of course. Those
little blue and white capsules
never did anything
but make me forget what it feels like
to forget all that I am scheduled to do
in this busy life
I have chosen to live in.

I want to feel again,
feel my hands tap my legs
and twist ribbon around my fingers.
I want to become excited
about all the tiny tiny details of life again.

I want to be able to trust those
little blue and white capsules
of a drug that I can no longer pronounce
because I became unobsessed
with all the cool words,
and I long to feel that happy
for even one more day.
One more hour.
One more minute.

Save your two hundred dollars
and your sticky and stupid
little blue and white capsules,
I want to feel again