Dating : Juiced

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Juiced

It shouldn’t be so hard —

I think, pulling the comforter over my head —

to be asked how I am

when I have juiced my heart

to fill your cup

because I wanted you happy and loved

even before the first kiss.

A woman like that is misunderstood

in her desire for a lifeline to humanity –

for a voice other than her own

to see her, not fix her.

She doesn’t need fixing or solving,

only caring

and maybe the occasional wipe of a tear

if she even lets you see it.

I have been her kind.

I still am.

Life, murder me not with your weapons

or your words,

or your actions.

Murder me with silence –

that bleak emptiness

to hang overhead

and eat away at the soul gradually

like a cancer called

I don’t have the time

when we need it now

more than ever.

© Julia R. DeStefano