new age (saint) valentine

these martyrs
they are saints in disguise
and they watch over us damn fool humans
as we peel and conceal the layers.

today i have been persecuted
for being this cynic who watches with impassive eyes
while chocolates and flowers and bright pink helium balloons
(screaming YOU ARE MY PRINCESS etc
can you feel my revulsion?)
are passed around in my class.

i appreciate the offerings placed on my table
(mostly chocolates. look,
these will all go to my hips, damn you)
but they mean everything and nothing at all
because by God i study in a girls' school
and i love a MAN for goodness' sakes.

on my way to the ladies'
between biology and math
(we are studying the reproductive system,
and trigonometry, respectively.
have you ever felt discontinuity?)
i am given a red red rose.
unceremoniously placed in a plastic bottle
that previously contained Ice Mountain mineral water bottled in Indonesia.
it is beautiful, it is mismatched,

it is unusually romantic and sweet.
the petals are already going crisp at the edges
and turning black because they are dying.
my heart says, "join the club."
my outer cynic is doing battle with my inner romantic.

i am not sure who i am cheering for.
i am not sure who i want to win.
i wish we all could win.

later in the day i am suddenly irrationally happy
when the boy i love messages me like he'd promised to,
only late:
"happy valentine's day, darling!
sorry i forgot."
the last is almost an afterthought and i know
it might not be fake but it's just compensation because
he quoted the Duchess of Malfi at the girl he loved
and she cannot appreciate him.

it's always compensation.
my life is compensation.
i fill the spaces with my raised eyebrow and my sarcasm.
my constant laughter is a counterpoint.

my adoration for him
i cannot bear to keep secret.
but because i am in between being a coward and a horny teenage girl
i say what i want to say and then i say
"joke, joke." this is easier online, on MSN.
see: compensation.

so now he just takes everything in his stride
and when i message, "shall i compare thee to a summer's day?"
he replies, succinctly, "oh i know! because a summer's day is hot!"

oh he makes me laugh.
he thinks it is a joke.
he knows it is a joke
because i tell him so.
secretly, i am not so sure anymore.

we all come back to the martyrs
but no one witnesses my turmoil
my pain, my broken heart, etc. etc.
(that was mandatory.
i am supposed to be full of teenage angst
according to my mom
who thinks she knows but really doesn't.)

my proper confession
takes place not in a church
(because, even though i like the songs they sing
i am not a woman of religion.)
but surreptitiously in school, under my desk
(bouncing through satellites and space and
the stars which i know are out there even though
it's broad daylight. they are too romantic to be left out.)
in the form of a message sent from phone to phone.

i wish my feelings were broad daylight.
i wish i was broad daylight.
i wish i was pretty and boring like the girls he likes,
not my "smart, talented, funny" self (i quote.)

i am not sure if i love this boy.
but i am sure that i will eat all the chocolates
that my girlfriends gave me all at one shot.

when i get home i might write a poem full of disjointed lines
with shameless abuse of (brackets)
sentence fragments, disregarding what they teach in English class.

i will get in the shower. shampoo and condition my hair.
peel the rose petals one by one and let them float in the bath.
my blood will sing (and so will i!)
my heart will be jubilant!

i will leave my love to fate. so:
lather, rinse, repeat.
he loves me.
lather, rinse, repeat.
he loves me not.
lather, rinse, repeat.
he loves me!

see, everything ends happily
for these martyrs, they are saints in disguise,
and they watch me peel the petals
off my rose
one
by
one.

---

a/n: well. this turned out a lot longer than i'd planned it out to be. unnoticed, the time ticked by while i was writing until i realised 'my god it is one hour gone and ARGH MY HOMEWORK' on the whole, the poem is quite true to how my valentine's day turned out. except for the bath part. i did that in the school sink. sorry about that; artistic liberty is always a good excuse though. please read and review, especially if you managed to read through the entire thing!

also i know this is a bit late by 4 days ;; do not blame me! i was swamped with homework, my eyebags are my most prominent feature now, i swear. my muse is drowned by them.