LUCES

I’ve never known a true man’s love,
not from partners nor my father.
And I’ve never known a gentle touch
or a boy who isn’t bothered
by my girlish delight at simple things
and my love for sweets and flowers.
Or my romantic side and sensitivity
and my want to pass the hours
just talking and feeling,
loving and healing—
learning of each other to grow.
Instead, all my men are just left reeling
and wanting me to go.
They yell and gripe,
command and sigh,
manipulate and twist,
expecting me to never say goodbye
and just put up with all this.
Silent tears—that’s what they want,
to hurt without consequence.
And every year, I pine and hunt
for a man who’s unlike them.
They say he lives,
but so far, no luck;
maybe I’m just cursed.
Or is he myth?
Or just made up?
Because it seems he’s not on Earth…