• Every morning I get up.
    I take a shower,
    brush my teeth,
    put on a little makeup,
    and I pop a pretty, pink pill.
    And because of this pill I am held as a symptom of the world
    and a symbol of a generation.

    People tell me, "You've got problems? The world has problems!"
    They say my extremes
    are the dying screams of a generation.
    They say we used to be individuals
    but then we were packed into boxes of Prozac and Lithium.
    They say I bleed because the world bleeds.

    But I bleed because I tried to kill myself,
    and my pain is from something in my brain that doesn't work right.
    And yes, I live in a box.
    But that box of light
    in a garage at night
    was a haven I could not leave,
    'cause if I tried
    I would have died
    and demons from hell would have dragged me down!
    And that is not a metaphor.
    That is a panic attack.
    And how dare you tell me that who I was then
    is any better than who I am now?
    'Cause who I was then couldn't squeeze a word out
    But who I am now wrote this poem to shout.
    And that, to me, spells progress.

    So every night
    I wash my face to be a little cleaner,
    I brush my teeth to be a little sweeter,
    and I take a tiny turquoise tablet to be a little stronger
    for another day.