As requested by a fellow pill hating friend:
A fat, psychotic sex hater
Is NOT a way to be,
But hell, why not?
If you can do it condom free
You went on the fucker because YES! you were getting laid
But no longer, and now you’ve lost your job, you’re not even getting paid
Yes – you chucked your keyboard at the face of your boss
And yes you cried over the excruciating, agonising loss
Of a pen
And your boyfriend is at a meeting but you’re calling him a trillion times.
Where are you? Who are you? And who the hell am I?
And yet again he screams:
‘I can’t do this anymore. What’s wrong with you, you psycho bitch?’
Nothing. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’M FINE.
Because that’s the thing about the pill in its little ‘easy to use’ packet of grief,
You can’t see that who you were was nicked by a sugar coated thief.
You think this is it,
That you are she,
This nutter who wants to eat her own family.
Wiping your tears with Kipling wrappers as you pile on pound after pound,
You never question is this shit I’m putting in my bod everyday really sound?
Looking back at photo albums,
Reminiscing about who you once were.
When you liked sex, ate when you were hungry,
and occasionally lost your shit,
Now you’re just a monster, with a slightly bigger tit.
But nostalgia gets you nowhere, whereas a pack of chocolates will,
And this sex thing? Really – it used to be a thrill?
‘PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE say you’re not up for it too’
is all that’s going through your once sexed up, now messed up
as you climb into bed
Oh no! You are?
And for years you never think
Hold up – wait, wait, wait,
I’m taking something to do something I’ve come to hate.
It was meant to make us sexually liberated and free
but to me,
It feels like the newest form of female repression,
With a glacé cherry of misery and depression.
It turns us into the hysterical, mad women we were propagated to be,
‘Yup – bitches be fucking crazy’ the sexists smile and say with glee.
So when you’re suddenly on antidepressants, without partner, job or pride,
Don’t just gobble up the situation and take it in your stride.
Some people can handle it, and are barely even changed,
But for those of you who quickly turn from sane to deranged
It’s not you and it’s not him. Or your dad, kid, boss or mate,
It’s that sugar coated bit of evil you’ve been popping as of late.