I'm Supposed to Cry on Thursday
It’s Thursday again and I have no idea where
the last week went. I’m so sick
of static television screens and
has anyone seen my skin?
It’s been an all-you-can-eat
buffet for weeks and there’s nothing left of me
to serve. I’m yellowed
and sad and I’ve been on
my computer too many days in a row.
All my friends are pixel pixies with a magic
that makes me feel as if I’m never alone.
But I’m always alone
when the screen is the only light glowing in
my tiny white
kitchen and I’m on glass number three
of Pinot Noir chatting
with Sam about all the black skies
and forgotten birthdays. It’s Thursday
yet I forget what midweek
feels like. With each glass I forget what
hands feel like. What
is this thing I’m typing on? What are
I’m in crisis and I have no idea where I put
my PUSH THIS BUTTON WHEN IN CRISIS MODE button.
I never know where I’m
supposed to cry on Thursday after you
declare that the way I exist is wrong. All these little eyes on me
when I’m welling up with
salt water seas, the Dead Sea.
Azia DuPont currently resides in Nothern Iowa. She is an editor for Dirty Chai Magazine. Her poetry has recently appeared in Empath Lit, Scapegoat Review and Haunted Waters Press. Her essay "I love you like I don't hate tomatoes" was featured in Highbrau Magazine. You can find her online via Twitter @aziadupont