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Coming Off an SSRI

Coming Off an SSRI
As bad as I feel, it feels good
To feel again. This dead oak I would
Have walked by before without giving it
A second thought, I must go up to it
Now and run my hand along its dead gray
Face, which looks in all directions, and say
A prayer for it. Standing under its limbs,
I understand it. I had no autumn
Sorrow myself, no spring joy. Everything
Seemed the same. I was through putting on rings
Too. In the leafless branches of my brain
Perched whole flocks of chemicals, but none sang.
As bad as I feel, it feels good
To feel. My prayer: that this oak, dead, could.

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