Valentine’s Day isn’t a favorite holiday of mine. Love should be shared and expressed every day. There doesn’t need to be a special day to show that you love, care, adore, and wish to be kind and give to your loved ones and others.
But, here we are.
Addendum: for those of you wondering about the garlic and honey, it’s a natural medicine. It has major health benefits and is rather inexpensive as well. Here’s a YouTube (one of many) about it.
Another day of love for lovers is here, and I am unbothered by the frenzy and unfulfilled purposed people struggling to find the best gifts for others they half love Monday through Thursday, and find themselves wanting to be rid of by Friday.
I smile. I smirk. I know where it all ends, and sadly, where it will begin again, and I say, “I don’t need Valentine’s Day to express my love for another — to let them know I truly care. If I love you, you know. I tell you. I show you.” And I get stares that seem to skitter about from the eyes and roll off to skim through my thoughts.
I said what I said. And I meant it.
My mother is the only person who can call me and say, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and I don’t flinch or cringe — she has done it for decades now. Ain’t no stopping her. The pressure that comes with this day is abhorrent. I have seen people take their last $50.00 to semi-splurge on things their loved one didn’t need.
And here we are, living during a time when four gallons of gas will probably cause you to get evicted. Do what you want with your money, I know what I will be doing with mine.
This day reappears yearly, and it’s the same charade setting itself up on bended knees to knock every participant down and out before they can utter half-hearted “I love yous.”
Commercialism at its finest.
And you’ll succumb. You’ll buy the roses. You’ll book the restaurant reservation. You’ll get the diamonds and pearls and toe the line of bankruptcy to fulfill an empty heart that only really needs you — that only really needs . . . love.
I’ll try not to put my foot too far in my mouth, because I am loving a woman who will one day have me running out to find the best thing suited for the whole of her — of who she is — Valentine’s Day, included among all others.
If it’ll draw that dimpled smile from her face for eleven seconds, I’d succumb, too. But for now, I don’t need Valentine’s Day. It can’t have what I have and won’t give me what I want — what I need.
I’ll sit back and watch and wonder how much longer we’ll dive into the moneymaking day of love that still manages to leave people depressed when the day is done.
We are knee-deep in its throes . . . bound to sink in its making faster than we ever could in quicksand.
The day of love approaches — savored lips flaunt in the midnight air — an enticing invitation for feelings swaddled in blankets too tight for release.
I have my ways, I know. You tell me this often, and I do hear you. I do. But I find my ways to be risky if I veer too far away from them — they’ll find me. They’ll seek me out.
And once I’ve been repurposed and re-homed, they will betray me. You have been my ruin for different shades of many moons — I want out.
I understand true love doesn’t sleep, but this feels like death — pre-meditated. I don’t remember signing up for this. *“You were light, but you were never my sun.”
I gave you a place at the table of my world — you sopped at every morsel, buried your woes at my feet. I welcomed the torment. I opened my door to the revolution and it struck me without warning.
I am burned by the light of a star.
Here . . . there are scars that refuse to heal. Here . . . there is pain that continues a cycle. Here . . . there is a heavy cross to bear.
I am broken from carrying it.
I wait for you — afraid that if I move forward in time with someone who walks on high heels and flashes deep dimples in my direction, I will fall and won’t be able to stand and steady myself in an upright position. She makes me weak.
And while the lovers of this realm ululate at the sight of a full moon on a day more special than your favorite sin, I will bite my tongue, don my adulting garb, and thank God for the new pair of balls I’ve grown.
I don’t believe in true love. I did believe in you.
A Cornered Gurl 
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