Valentine’s Day is coming up and you know what that means!
50% off candy on February 15th.
Yesterday I was recalling the last time I ever gave a valentine to someone and it was in sixth grade. There was this boy I liked, so I had the bright idea of buying him a lot of little gifts and setting them on his desk before class started. Looking back, it was pretty fucking crazy, but I was a lonely 11 year old kid enamored by the capitalistic romance of Valentine’s Day. Sue me.
I’d gotten this boy a teddy bear, and several little boxes of chocolate. 20 year old me is cringing as I write this. I remember the look on his face as he sat down and looked at all the little gifts on his desk. His face kind of fell, and I swear to Christ he rolled his eyes. While everyone was still coming into the classroom, he walked over to me and told me that he couldn’t be my valentine (what does that even mean? is “will you be my valentine?” code for “will you go out with me?” or something? this is stupid) because he already had two. Oh, and he didn’t like me like that.
11 year old me was destroyed, but like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I lived.
Since then, I’ve never given a valentine out to someone I liked and probably never will at this point. Instead of loathing myself for being single year after year, I have a personal tradition of writing a love poem every Valentine’s Day.
Poetry has always held a special place in my heart. I think it’s not only romantic as fuck, but I love how so little words can express so much. Haiku poets are especially expert at this. I, however, dabble primarily in free verse and slam poetry.
That being said, tonight I wrote a Valentine’s Day themed slam poem. To everyone who is alone on Valentine’s Day, this is for you. And if you’re not alone, well. Fuck off.
Call me on the phone
When you get good news because
Goddammit I want to hear your voice
You wonderful piece of shit.
Call me by my name, correctly, and don’t mispronounce it.
Because if you do, I will kick your ass in Japanese
And you won’t know what hit you.
Call me sweetheart,
And I will literally melt in your arms like the
50% off Valentine’s Day candy at the nearest
Walgreens in Phoenix on February fifteenth.
Call me often. Call me happy. Call me sad.
I want to hear your voice as often as I can,
Because frankly? I’m in love with you.
And I don’t know who you are yet
Because I’ve never been in love
With someone who loves me back.
And between you and me,
All this unrequited love is bad for my skin.
I’m in love with you.
I’m in love with the way your fingers move,
The way the midday light plays on your skin
Even though you glow brighter than the sun herself.
I am enamored with your laughter and your smile and your humor and
When you compliment me I won’t know
Whether to reply with a meme or a thank you or a returning compliment.
And I don’t know if that makes me more or less of a millennial,
But I know that I’d like to own a house with you someday.
Maybe not with kids or a white picket fence,
But maybe with a cat. Or a dog. Or both.
I’d like to wake up to see you smile with your
Stupid stinky morning breath and
Kiss you anyway
Because I am in love with you.
And I’m not sure if this makes me more or less of a poet:
The realization that I cannot write
To save my life unless I am
Choking on lust or longing.
Doubt wafts over me like an unforgiving fog;
Hope lies in the distance.
But tonight she hides.
She hides as I toss and turn and lie in wait,
Grasping at what I am forced to be patient for.
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. Enjoy your capitalistic holiday.