Love & Lexapro

Emma Alexis Woodard

Description

If you’re brain doesn’t produce natural happy chemicals, store bought is fine! But the side-effects are abundant, and you’ll probably never tell anyone how you feel to their face…A chronicle of one poet’s time on the prescription anti-depressant Lexapro, including the ins and outs of all the things she wished she’d said. From falling in love to falling apart, from losing your mental stability to losing your religion, the struggles of complex human emotion are broken down into poetry and prose to give meaning to pain and make sense of it all. This book dives into the things the author could’ve said during her first real relationship, to the first woman she fell in love with, to all the men who let her down, and to the cult that held her and her happiness hostage for most of her early to mid-twenties. For every thorn, there’s a rose – and an ode to the people loved, eternally, by the author. Lovers, survivors, and artists, this book is for you. People healing, people wanting, people needing, this book is for you too. This book is for the ones who feel everything, and say nothing.

Sujets

• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 12 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669843221
• Langue: English

Extrait

Love & Lexapro










Emma Alexis Woodard



Copyright © 2022 by Emma Alexis Woodard.

Library of Congress Control Number:
2022915426
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-4324-5
Softcover
978-1-6698-4323-8
eBook
978-1-6698-4322-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.





Rev. date: 09/12/2022





Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
830619



Contents
Dedication
It Goes On
Circles
For Granted
Otter
Even If
In Eventuality
Idols
Humanity
Loss Can Only Be Felt
Gospel
Peyton
I Don’t Want to Reminisce with You
We Only Do Things in the Worst Way
Twenty-Four
Seabury
Six and Five
New Beginnings
Ellie
Post-Mormon Catholicism
Page 8
Katie
You Don’t Have a Car
Overwhelming
Being Alive
MST
Youth on LSD
On the Lamb
Hazing
Growing Pains
My Conscience is Clear
C
She’s So Lovely
On Being Yours
Fractals
Senses, in a Sense
Windowsill
Crowds
Champagne/Cocaine
Positioned
Trade Trade Trade
Utah
Always You Before Me
C Part 2
Written on a Wall
Weeks
December 2008
A Skyscraper
A-Romantic
An Explanation of Affairs
Crowned
Talking Back
Texas
She’s the Ash
On Being a Granddaughter
Elsie
Curiosities
Mother Mary Anew
On Grief
Endings
Having Faith
‘Tis Eventide
The Lost Apostle
Lexapro and Loneliness
Brain Fog
Non es Ad Astra Molis e Terris Via
Rings and Things
It Was a Panic Attack, Gina
In the City of Brotherly Love
Kevin Kline or Someone of the Sort
Cats in a Well
Pleading
Ode to My Chronically Ill Self
I Am He as You are He as You Are Me
Yams of San Francisco
Falling in a Spiral
Heroin/e
Fire in the Sky
The Axe Forgets, But the Tree Remembers
Circles Part 2
You Cock Your Hat as You Please
For Her
Lessons in Masquerade
Side-Scrolling
Sparks
On Being Cattle
Zero Day
Sis Mish
Missionary Position
I’m Coping Here
Bob
I Can’t Wait to Meet Her
Muppets on the Wall
Running Before the Dogs
Any Given Sunday
Boy, You Got Me
This is Not for You
Isn’t It a Pity I Feel so Safe with You?
Lapis Lazuli
Ananias (Daddy)
Living as my Own
Trusting Myself to Try
Dear Sidewalk



Dedication

To my mother, Carol Woodard, for the constant trips to the bookstore and for believing that my ramblings would one day take me somewhere. I believe in myself because of her.
To my great uncle, Lewis Howell, for my first copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets and for always encouraging me to read everything I can. I write because of him.
To the housecats: Bella, Zorro, and Cricket for staying up the long nights editing and writing and rewriting. Their purrs are encapsulated in every page.




It Goes On

My old heart still beats.

Barely a sound.

Barely a beat.

But the blood pumps.

In my lungs the air flows.

My old heart can still feel.

And I can still feel its beat.




Circles

I am not Mohammed.
Yet here is my mountain.
How I envy the faithful
Who move in droves
And find their way to climb.
Mohammed’s mountain.
My mountain.
Alexander’s Gordian knot.
The faithful climb
And I
Walk
Around




For Granted

Everyone is one too many.
Every time is time too much.
People leave
Time passes
Nothing matters much.
But you?
You…
You.

You’re everyone enough.
Every time too short.
You’re worth it all
And everything
Everything to me.




Otter

Kissing other girls
Let me be your taste test

Let me guide your fingertips
Leave your mind restless




Even If

There’s something there.

If I let my vices kill me

At the end

I’ll know

I lived




In Eventuality

Even with the days
Moving forward
Even with the countdown
Nearing its end
Even with your voice
A whisper away now
Even with your embrace
Closer and closer
I find I’m happy alone
I find I want you
Less
I want you to stay
Away
Where you are
Is where you’ll stay
In a place
And memory
Of skipping beats
And flushed cheeks
It’s safe now to be
Myself




Idols

I don’t have a lot but memory.
Please…
Let me love the idea of you.
Let me fall for false.




Humanity

Being alive is fearing being alive
And a fear of losing your life
Running out of time
Worrying about your fears
Feeling terror over worries




Loss Can Only Be Felt

Looking into the heart of hell
I am the lamb, and you are the slaughter.

Grasping at trembling twigs
I am the lamb, and you are the slaughter.

Why can’t I see my future?
I am the lamb, and you are the slaughter.

Blur blur blur time-release blur.
I am the lamb, and you are the slaughter.

I MISS THE URGENCY.
I AM THE LAMB AND YOU ARE THE SLAUGHTER.
I AM THE LAMB
I AM THE LAMB
I AM THE LAMB IA M THE LAMB IAMNTHE LAMBB
I am the slaughter.




Gospel

On November 7 th I was slated to learn
“It is better to marry than to burn”
“Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men”
This message reiterated, again and again.
Water and fire, my past still stands
Simply unworthy of your promised lands.




Peyton

And I’m just now noticing how much I liked the way you snaked your arm around my waist so subtly, and how you crept closer each moment until our breath mingled in front of us.
I miss the way you whispered in my ear and made my cheeks burn bright red as I looked away and tried to hide a smile. How much I regret scooting away from you after teasing the way I do everyone. How much I now regret how many have been in your shoes before. You were different, and yet I treated you as if you were anyone else.
Your palm flat against the slight strip of exposed hip.
The electricity shot up
This lean close.
The way you tilt
Our lips nearly brush until
I pulled away.




I Don’t Want to Reminisce with You

Maybe this is my only constant
Happiness means starting over
Discovering a new person
Sadness is a facet of myself
Remaining takes my last shred of me
What I did want for dead
At the expense of my own living




We Only Do Things in the Worst Way

Nothing is as
Constant or
Brutal or
Breaking or sincerely
Wonderful at taking
As change
Change increases
Our range
I thought I could write it right
Change is subtle.
The serpent was subtil.
Enter one by one
Journey two by two
Exit one by one
“Sojourn.”
Witness of the
Spirit of the
Love of the
Savior
“Succor.”
Pray & fast
To know what to
Stay