R. Brookes McKenzie

unaccustomed

it’s been so long
since I had this kind
of a workout,
the kind that makes my
whole body ache
in the best possible way.
the new gym
I just joined is amazing.

sometimes when I
have no place to work out
I start to think
that I don’t need it, I’m
just fine without it, I could
live my whole life without ever
doing it again, but then
I find a new place and remember
yes, this is life. there’s more
to being alive than lonely
sessions with a shake
weight. put it this way: I didn’t
join just for the free
t-shirt.

the cloud

there is one lone, stubborn, sad, angry cloud
lurking at the edges
of my otherwise sunny forecast.
it’s a bad weather situation
that has been brewing for
some time, way before I even
came to these climes. but
it’s not raining on me,
so I’m going to try very hard
not to let it spoil
any of my balmy seaside
summer plans.

weather report

my vacation
is going swimmingly. please
disregard any postcards you might
receive that may seem to indicate
otherwise. I started those
before I got here,
when I was still
looming and glooming,
lurking and lacking, crying
in the shadows
for fear of coming into
the light, and finished them with
the calm and stillness
that comes from going
through a seemingly infinitely
long tunnel and coming
unexpectedly out
the other side, emerging
into brightness blinking
and bewildered at the beauty
of the simplest mote
of sunlight, and turning around
to look over my shoulder at
the long dark stretch behind,
amazed that I got through it, and
grateful that the light at the end
of the tunnel wasn’t a train,
after all.

the job

won’t someone else
please take over
the responsibility
of making me happy?
it’s far too big a job and
I just can’t hack it
anymore.

can you distract me
from the endless pain
of existence?
then by all means,
go ahead. you’re
welcome to try. it will
probably only make me
sadder, though, when the
old enemies, my black and
lonely thoughts of
impending doom
come rushing back in,
all the more importuning
for having been briefly
shut out.

sometimes I see a plane
passing by overhead
and wish that my heart
could just fly away
with it.

sometimes I am envious
of the dead, so calmly sleeping
in their cushioned beds,
nestled, resting in their cold,
peaceful, milk-white marble
tombs.

my exes

I’m sorry
I talk about my exes so much.
but they are part of me,
part of my history and
I can’t help it.

but also maybe it’s
somehow slightly less personal
than talking about my actual self
and sometimes I need
that fractional distance,
when revealing myself
feels vulnerable and
scary.

they’re safely in the past,
and when I remember them
I also remember
how I suffered
and how
I came out the other side,
scarred, but whole,
bloodied but
unbowed, and
I’m reminded
that I’ll be okay, no matter
what happens.

everything

everyone wants someone
who will reflect back to them
the way they want to be.
the problem comes when
the person sees the real you –
the one you try so desperately
to hide – and loves it anyway.

what screws things up
is when someone
comes along who
likes you far more
than you like yourself, and
you can’t even entertain the thought
that maybe everything you’ve hated
about yourself your whole life
isn’t really that bad.

I just wanted to be his
everything, but that was
too much for him,
apparently.

speechwritten

you can put your words
in my mouth
all you want, but
that doesn’t
make them true.

you can tell yourself
that you did the right thing,
that it’s for the best,
that all’s well that ends well,
till the cows come home.
that’s what cowards do
when the universe fails
to approve their fearful lack
of action.

Continue reading speechwritten

home.

I like you, and I like how
you’re not afraid to say
you like me. you tell me
that you’ve always thought
I’m gorgeous; you tell me
that I’m nice – I’m not always
that nice, but ok – and you tell me
you don’t understand why
anyone would not want
to date me. part of me
believes it. another part
whispers, "but he doesn’t really
know you yet. he’s going to find out
what an unlovable monster
you really are."

Continue reading home.

a conversation greatly to be desired

I’d like to hear
what our therapists would have to say
to each other. in a mythical world
where such a conversation
might be permitted and
not considered a gross violation
of our privacy (or HIPAA,
or the Hippocratic oath, or
some other dumb law),
I bet with an hour together
they could sort out our problems
in a trice – a jiffy, even.

Continue reading a conversation greatly to be desired

can’t.

I tried to go out today. first
I did some chores and fed
the cats and myself, then I showered
and changed. I put on
a dress and everything.
it was so cosy and soft,
it felt like pajamas. I had
leggings underneath for warmth
and my plastic jelly shoes and my
emo goth necklace
and got Omni packed up
and was totally ready
but by the time I did all that I
no longer wanted
to leave the house,
suddenly I felt nothing but empty and
so very tired.

(that weed I smoked after supper
had nothing
to do with it, I’m sure.)

I should go, I know,
only two more weeks
to promote my show, but I’m too
sleepy, I’m languishing,
I’m dying. I had to
take off my outfit
and climb right back
into bed. I’ll see you all
in my dreams.