I hate Valentine’s Day.
The wordsmith in me can’t stand the loved filled, red holiday.
You know the part of me that talks of dead writers, literary terms no one knows, and who tries to rhyme every word I see.
See, be, me, Lee, thee, sea.
Sorry there I go again.
The guy in me doesn’t mind the holiday so much.
I like chocolate. (all of them)
I like women. (most of them)
Women like getting chocolate on the holiday, so I like that.
Being alone on a day when couples are together is not ideal, but I can always buy chocolate for myself.
And eat the weight of my sorrows and sadness in sweets.
Also, Cupid comes across to me as a figure who was originally not as cute as the mainstream society makes him out to be.
Like if I were to meet him, he sounds like he’d kick my ass.
And he accepted the romanticized version we gave him, because why not?
I’d be so afraid of his deep voice and unkempt beard that I’d forget to even blame him for my pathetic love life.
But Cupid is smart enough to know a tough-talking, beard-growing, arrow-carrying man, won’t make lovers feel like making love, but a young-loving, innocent-looking, heart arrow-shooting boy sure will.
He really doesn’t want to hear the bullshit of my love predicament.
“My love life is awful.”
Like he hasn’t heard that one before.
He has some arrows set aside for non-lovers and he isn’t afraid to use them on complainers like me.
As a writer, love is a big deal.
My god is there another category written of more than love?
But seriously, can you be considered a real writer if you haven’t confessed your emotions to someone in an overtly melancholic, yet oddly poetic manner?
One that exposes the vulnerability of a human, while also being beautiful for discussing that very nature?
For capturing the feelings of the complex subject in a verse that not only can be quoted but relatable?
I’d say no.
People want to read love.
If you aren’t writing about love, then what are you writing about?
That was a rhetorical question, you’re always writing about love.
Valentine’s Day is when I get mocked by writers, dead and alive.
Shakespeare, Neruda, Dickinson, heck even Bukowski has a few laughs at my expense.
Like it isn’t bad enough I’m alone eating chocolate I bought for myself on that date, I have to be reminded of the words I can’t write too.
I can’t get love or even write about it.
Screw you Valentine’s Day.
Screw you Cupid (don’t tell him I said that)
Do I fail at writing about love because I’m a bad lover?
Or am I a bad lover because I fail at writing about love?
Love poems will be read on Valentine’s Day, from every damn couple in every damn city in every damn restaurant around, and I will hate it.
Love poems that talk of the red in the hearts of lucky lovers.
Love poems that describe the crescent moon bringing passion into the lives of new couples.
Love poems that give you a real version of the life of lovers. Love isn’t all champagne and flowers you know. You got to work at it.
Love poems, or as I call them; Stuff I Can’t And Won’t Write.
At least two things won’t screw me on that day.
Chocolate and women.
I want one of them to do that.
Oh shoot. I hope he didn’t hear that.
About The Blogger
Greg Luti is an editor and blogger on pensandwords.com. His favorite writers are Robert Frost and Charles Bukowski. He enjoys reading up on history, watching comedies, and playing video games, when he is not writing down a few notes for his next piece. He started this blog out of his love for literature and hopes that the reader shares that same passion.
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