on prozac

i don’t suppose anything is so naturally unnatural, or unnaturally natural, as a pill. like food for deficit, like prescribed rain for parched lands.

i don’t see my usage as a crutch, because i am lucky enough for it not to be. i feel lucky and loved and cradled by chemicals i take in blue-and-orange cylinders daily.

every carrot, every green bean, each banana contains vitamins and substances without which my body would be made of holes. perhaps i just have extra holes.

i believe in magic but not magical elixers, fix-all pills that make me fit in worlds where i don’t. i still have my mind and my faults and my disenchantments, my friends and foes and wishes, hopes, dreams. i could walk away back into a dark, smelly swamp crafted by my extra holes.

or i could nourish myself with something i am lucky enough to safely access and accept.


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