Fall 2010 / Issues / Poetry 2010 / Volume 41

spoon full of sugar–Rhian Beutler

can’t focus, won’t focus.

don’t really know how.

should have taken the staystillandquiet pink pills

they work. i don’t eat with them.

but they work.

as my body shrinks my mind sharpens

i always wanted to be skinny

but could have forgone the panic attacks.

they are part of the pink pills

gnawing on the inside of my cheek

i still will take the focusoneverything pills

even if they make me obsess on the worst.

today, though, i forgot

to take my beagoodgirl medicine

and have resigned myself to writing poetry

in a coffee shop where i am told

i am like a bombshell

they meant it in a good way

but i take it in a bad way

inside the shell of an explosive

is the deadly part.

explosions are beautiful from a distance

but from next to me,

the are devastating.

being a bombshell, perhaps

is the worst compliment of all.

i should have taken my

keepyourfuckingmouth shut treatment

because i don’t want to control my words today

today i have no desire to hold my tongue

and not say

everything that crosses synapses

racing from my brain

to my lips faster than

cars that race on the autobahn

and just like the german engineering that

was developed just to keep one alive

during the 180kph crash

i am kept alive by the shell of my bomb

on my heart, soul, and mind.

created by a blue keepsmilingevenwhenithurts pill.

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