The first time

A pill was placed in my hand

It was blue, and beige

And there was a promise of hope

Attached

I was fourteen

And in the midst of pubescent chaos

I was also

Swimming in trauma and on the mission

To disappear

.

A kind woman

She prescribed it from afar

And told me that yes, my mother was crazy

I swallowed that pill

And slowly, a fog lifted

I felt supported

There was hope again

.

This relationship

With my new blue and beige friends

Was temporarily interrupted

By a tall, strange man

With a wolf

For some months

I was captivated

I let him rule me

And

The smoke of the Green Man

Was assigned

Instead

.

He, murdered

Left me unmoored

And within some months

I was looking over the edge

Again

In the hospital

Fresh from death

A nurse dispensed

My same blue and beige friends

Into a cup

And told me to swallow

I had nothing else to live for

So I did

.

At the same time

A new pill appeared

This one, sometimes pink, sometimes white

This one, to help me bleed

I don’t remember (because the blue and beige friends, they helped me forget)

But I probably had my first cycle, there in those institution bathrooms

Alone

.

Blue and beige

Pink, sometimes white

These friends carried me over

That confusing and terrifying

And fucked up threshold

Into “being a woman”

And we stayed loyal

Steadfast in allegiance

Through a decade of trial

.

One day

There was a clear decision

That me and my friends needed to part

Although a fright of what my body might do

Roiled within me

I had built up courage all these years

To finally face those demons inside, again

So I began

Experimenting

.

Shaking but also exhilarated

I felt my soul was taking me on a new adventure

Something within was chanting

Trust the ride, trust the ride

It will teach you

If you trust the ride

And so I did

.

So proud, at first it was easy

And I, determined

So taken by this deep voice inside

Two decades, I stayed on

The roller coaster of my soul

Taking only capsules, and tinctures

But never pills

Again, remaining loyal, and steadfast

To my soul commitment

.

Until now

And isn’t it ironic

That I am once more

On the edge

Once more just crossing the threshold

From woman…to crone

Isn’t it ironic

That a nurse placed

White pills into my cup (now there’s no pink ones)

And is suggesting

A return

To my blue and beige friends

.

Thresholds

Crossings

Bleedings

Initiations

Pain

Pain

Pain

Dragging me into the pharmaceutical dance

Once again

Menarche and menopause, mirroring

.

Will these pills save me?

Or or will they destroy

The soul I’ve worked so hard to let lead?

I don’t know

But just like that fourteen year old

Who had nothing else to live for

I’m swallowing, and hoping

Again