It’s sickening to me,

that you’ve developed medicines to reduce my creativity.

It’s almost like I’m up to my chin in the ocean, unable to swim.

But I’m too afraid to cry,

because if I do the water level might rise,

causing me to drown in a sea of diagnosis and pills.
Losing my mind to people who think I’ve already lost it.

Thrown into a room scraping at the door trying to unlock it.

It’s driving me insane that you think my brain moving too fast does anything but save me.