tfw you think you can
protect your heart
by making them mad at you
"I don’t care; I didn’t
want you anyway," she
lied desperately
don’t mind me; just cutting
off my nose to
spite my face again
tried to claw my way
out of the darkness, but
that just made it worse
revised my angry poem
but it still reveals
too much
go ahead, fight back –
at least then I can pretend
you care
newsflash: I haven’t changed.
if I’ve become yesterday’s news
to you, it’s only because
you realized there was a chance
to have an actual adult
relationship with someone
you seemed to like just fine
until you found out she
wanted to be
with you. that says a lot more
about you than it does
about me, frankly. you
might want to discuss that
with your therapist.
you’re that dog
from Aesop’s fable, the one that
had a bone, but
when he saw his reflection
in the water of a stream
he was crossing, was jealous
of that other dog’s
clearly superior bone,
and in opening his mouth
to bark at the interloper
dropped the actual real bone
into the stream. a bone in the mouth
is worth three in the stream.
well have fun forever
chasing what you can’t
have. I’m no man’s
bone. laters!
I was so incredibly
wrong about you. a lion
is a majestic beast, the King
of the jungle, a noble carnivore
that has no choice but
to be what he is. you’re no lion –
so far from a king, you’re a peasant –
a pissant, a donkey, a braying ass
standing in the street
kicking people in the face
because they saw you
at your worst and refused
to run away, always craning your neck
to try to get at that greener grass
on the other side of
the fence behind which
you put yourself.
my mistake was clearly
hitching my wagon
to the wrong beast of burden.
you’ll never move
an inch, you stubborn mule,
so I’ll leave you to your rotten
straw and hay. go ahead and
eat your words. it’ll serve you right
when they make you sick.
I’m at 125th street, waiting. in an
exhausted daze, took
the wrong train
again. story
of my life. next to me
a woman clutches a pamphlet
with a crudely drawn cartoon
of a lion on it.
“There’s a Lion
looking for you,” it reads.
it’s just some creepy
Xtian tract, but the phrase
haunts me. I’m reminded of
the Tarot card for Strength,
and of Narnia.
where’s my Lion? has he
found me yet? will
he eat me already, and free me
from this hell of my own
making? or am I already
inside his belly – is that why
everything feels so very
dark?
look. don’t try to pretend
you don’t like me. we’re way too deep
for those kinds of games.
I’m not asking for the moon, you idiot,
or anything you are not willing
to give. haven’t I proved
my patience by now?
you’d be lucky
to have me. I’m fucking
awesome and I think
my resume has proved
that I am a great girlfriend.
fuck you if you think
I’m not good enough
for you.
I can go on a well-known website
where one can post free personals
and easily amass a veritable
army of dudes
begging me to grace them
with my presence. I can recreate
the movie 300
with men who would love to be
my paramour.
don’t make me sic them
on your ass.
R. Brookes McKenzie 