A poem: Bruised

Bless his dear heart-
He loves me.
There is this explicit tone.
in his voice
He is delighted, thrilled!
With a shrill voice, he exclaims:
You're my sunshine!

I am awfully silly-
I love this.
Like a love-hungry kitten, I push earnestly,
passionately, into him.
So unlike myself am I,
purring what I want him to change:
Love has never been mine.

Such a man is he-
wanting to save me.
With his fiery eyes,
he looks into my soul.
Emotions ruin him,
tearing, struggling through lumps:
Please! I am trying!

To search so deeply-
within the core of oneself.
Could a wretched soul like mine
love a being so pure,
without ruining completely?
Using soft words in loud spaces:
Why are you crying?

He is angry now-
I have made him furious.
He takes deep, hot breathes,
seething; his nostrils flaring-
stiffened index finger pointing,
with moist, accusatory eyes:
I thought we were flying!

Grounded, the tile-wood floor-
Cold; pained, throbbing knees.
Zero attempts have been made,
or none worth noting,
but may I begin now?
Pathetic voice reaching, pleading:
May I stop us from dying?

He says: I'll fix you-
we'll make love belong to us.
The heart breaks beautifully
At the cynical desiring,
the desperate need to be the warmth
that he seeks from only me.
I have grown weary of lying

- Yentl. T. De Luna