The High Class

Pills fall in line on
the palm of their hands.
Capsules in round
vogue the latest trends.

Back in the vault,
cheap transparent plastic
from Christmas circa 2000,
trap coated yellow models
batting labels for release.

Tension builds like the eve.

Their release is relief.
Their release is ease.
Their release is a tease.

Fresh start; the new era
puts pure white tablets
on the discount rack–
no one wants synthetic.
Everyone wants the high class
even if the materials do never last.


* This is the beginning of a series of poems I have decided to make about my trip to India and into psychosis. The WordPress audience has been very supportive and adamant that I write more on the topic. I have tried writing in ‘chapter’ form (or whatever the hell it’s called) but I simply have no idea where to start or what the hell I’m doing. Poetry gives me some comfort, allowing me to be vague enough seems to keep myself removed from the situation… It’s less overwhelming.
(I decided I’ll leave an explanation none the less, so it’s a little more clear.)
* As I was packing for India, I had the option to take my stash of pills with me. I debated for a long time, wanting to start this new life living in India being clean. I Ended up taking some Vicodin for the trip the flight anyways… :/

About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
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5 Responses to The High Class

  1. klibnur says:

    For me reading both your poem and engaging with the art work provoked an insight into the process of self medicating to suppress raw emotional experiences. Alluding to the perfectly packaged pills that can numb and eliminate the symptoms of emotional trauma but fail to relate or begin to heal the problem. It also conveyed a popular culture fetish for getting high and the normality of using prescription drugs to ‘feel better’. In the context of the piece by Celeste Marie Welch, I was struck by the comparison between the way in which women’s voices have been silenced through and by prescription drugs and have consequently adapted to this silenced ‘other way of being’. And for me you articulate a seductive relationship with the chemical high that is largely female in its tone and consequently reflective of the theme in the art work. Suffice to say I think the poem is pretty dam awesome. Thanks


    • Robyn says:

      Wow. Wow. Thank you for your interpretation. Seriously. I am so glad you enjoyed the poem. I enjoyed making it and i have since had a hard time translating much of my ‘story’ without evoking emotions that leave me unstable.

      When regarding Welch’s piece, it spoke to me more so within the background text. Especially when describing what the woman was delusioning about and the mention of being in an ice coffin. Having been in psychosis before, it resonated. Regardless, the piece is stunning and provocative and i am blown away by the web you’ve created to bind these two seemingly distant works together. Again, much much much thanks :)

      Liked by 1 person

      • klibnur says:

        Yes I think the ice coffin is a powerful metaphor for the often detached visceral space that women are forced into when they are not ‘stable’ and do not conform with the ‘norms’ of what women should look like and how they should behave. I look forward to browsing more of your work. :)


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