a brilliant friend
whom I respect
very much
suggests
after reading
my depressive work,
my yawps
of despair
that
I try
Zoloft
for a few weeks.
Just try it.
It won’t make you
someone different.
It won’t lobotomize you.
It won’t kill
your best,
most authentic
self.
It’ll just
allow you
to enjoy
yourself.
But Diana,
I DO enjoy myself.
I enjoy wallowing
in both
shame
and
guilt.
I enjoy
thinking
about suicide
-mine,
and others’.
I enjoy
remembering
All the wrong
turns
I,
and others,
have taken,
and I enjoy
expressing
what I’m missing.
If that’s not enjoyment,
what is?
And she says
Just try it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Did it do any good? ...any harm? ... and, what does she say now?