I used to be a shiny penny
Happy go lucky and brighter than any
But then one day my shine went dull…
And when I say dull, I mean that I didn’t even feel like a penny anymore.
I didn’t know what I was, but the closest thing I can think of to describe it would be… nothing.
Yes… I felt like nothing. Not even a penny.
Not even a shitty penny.
Just nothing. I craved to be a penny again, if even a penny LOAFER.
But my worth didn’t come
My feelings went numb
My answer was rum
My outlook was glum
So… I went to my doctor and I told him:
“I don’t feel like a shiny penny anymore”
“Every time I try to raise my worth I hit the floor… My boyfriend just wants things to go back to the way they were before… My mind is like a post-apocalyptic carnival of war… These racing thoughts make me want to put my fist through a door…”
“Doctor… What’s wrong with me?”
And he looked at me sympathetically
(Or at least I thought so anyway)
And said “take these for 2 weeks, and then take these”
As he wrote me a prescription and said “ Don’t stop them though, please.”
And that was that.
My prescription was made. After all, he is a doctor…
He wouldn’t wish my copper to fade… my darkness to invade… or my life to be betrayed.
But why didn’t he tell me that I’d be shaking like a crack head, or that my favourite place would be BED… and that my TOTAL ABILITY TO FEEL ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING would be dead.
You fucking DICK HEAD!
You never cared about me, or helping me get my shine back. You didn’t care that my insides were black … and my emotions just whack.
You just wanted a shiny penny didn’t you?
The whisper in your ear of that new drug debut. Pharmaceutical conditioning encapsulating you… echoing in your mind as I hand you my life to chew.
And with the stroke of a pen you made it so… turned a once shiny penny into a stale cuppa joe and don’t act like you didn’t know. Just because that Hippocratic Oath of yours is a little slow.
Maybe you don’t remember that oath… OR CARE about my healthy emotional growth, but I assure you this:
The success of my life does not rest upon a bottle of pills. The mere thought or mention of that is enough to give an Eskimo the chills. Without the highs and lows there would be no journey to take, and surely no hills.
I want my highs. I want my lows. I want the passion that makes me write prose.
I am a shiny penny… Not just some prescription for you to write & dispose!