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MacKenzie Rork is a sophomore at Endicott College majoring in linguistics. She writes poetry as a way to build a connection to the world through emotion. MacKenzie has a passion for the exploration of wildlife relating to plants and animals. She is from a small town in Vermont and loves spending time with her family when she is not traveling the world.

Room 304

Dear Doc,

No,
I’m not okay.
So please,
Stop asking.

Each consonant piercing my ears,
Sterile needles begging for blood.
Just…
please,
Stop asking.

My lungs have been torn,
Scraped into pieces,
Too many holes to mend.
They don’t work anymore,
No oxygen meets my tongue.
When I close my eyes,
I feel the cold breeze kissing my ribs,
And fucking my heart.
Don’t you understand,
I will never be okay.
How can you expect me to laugh, when I can’t even breathe.

You force me to maintain this mask,
But what you don’t understand,
Is that there comes a point,
When we all must surrender the facade,
And confront the revolting reflection staring back into our eyes.

None of us,
Are okay.
We are sick,
We are defective,
We are incurable.
When a mind breaks,
There is no glue to bind the matter again as one.
The understanding within,
Is simply lost.
It becomes a puzzle,
One where none of the pieces,
Fit together.
Yet chaos remains,
Demanding us to try!
Furiously grabbing piece after piece,
Just to see if they’ll touch,
Pray that maybe,
this time,
something,
anything,
will make sense.

Sincerely,
Room 304

— MacKenzie Rork

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