Last year I was at the grocery store on Valentines Day standing behind a man who was buying up all the v-day goods in the store. He had bears, candy, red pink glitter papers, toys, fake flowers, a pink cake. He had it all. I thought about all that plastic crap from China... where it came from, where it was headed, and why. Then I went home, drank some red wine. And I wrote this poem I am going to share here.
Not so long after I wrote this, my Love and I finally found each other. I truly believe it's only because of how actively I was working on my alignment. In the literal detail of that as well as the big picture.
A yoga teacher of mine once said that you have to have awareness of your path and your potential. What work do you need to do to move towards that self- realization...
My love inspires me every day, to love deeper than I ever knew myself to be capable of.
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don't tell me you love me
don't tell me you love me
gift wrapped in pink tinsel/red ribbons/silver confetti
spilling from plastic bags
onto hallmarked visions of insincerity
sincere grandiose inarticulateness
that grasps and gropes
to latch onto a word that could tie/pull/beat my heart into yours
like one more submissive victim of key marketing executives
just another shoe in for the target demographic
i couldn't stand still in a place that was so precisely bought executed delivered
don't tell me
don't tell me you love me
with flowers pulled from their source/life/breath
i don't want my love to be bouqueted up
saturated with the dank unwashable stench of death
where the waters are thick yellow murky
rotting stalks disintegrating
don't tell me
don't tell me you love me
through milk chocolate/sugarcane
artificial flavors FDC yellow #6, red#40, red#40, yellow#5, yellow#6, blue #1
blue #1, yellow#5
with corn syrup
corn is just too opportunistic too greedy too manipulative for the love i want
and yellow number 6 took me home once but never called again
so please
don't tell me
don't tell me you love me
from a striped victoria's secret box
i don't want my love costumed in a mass consumerist
fantasy as if desire truly was directed from the pages of a magazine
as if i couldn't smell the blood of exploitation
of chemical annihilation
on that cheap synthetic fabric
as if my body wouldn't be able to feel the vibrations
of the screams held in by the young woman who
pieced together the fake satin and lace into
this shallow maxim concept of exactly what sexy is
i don't need to bring back what is already inherent
so don't tell me
don't tell me you love me with an earring that will fall
into the bathroom sink - a bracelet that would stain my wrist
a ring - as if love really could be contracted through a piece of jewlery
as if that were a promise that could always be kept
i don't want a love that rusts and cracks and goes away
when the hotel safe gets broken into...
i want you to tell me
with one glance from your eyes
with one graze from your palm
with one sigh from your throat
tell me
simple
tell me
honest
tell me
love.
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