Valentine

I hate the roses, but I want to love.

(I HIGHLY recommend audio)

February 14th. 

I love roses,

the chocolate, I

love the love, which
stays stagnant in

the air like a puff

of tobacco

on a cold evening.

February 14th.

My mother calls

me every valentine,

every valentine she tells

me how much she wishes she

could see me.

Every valentine, I saw her smile

falter only for

a moment, the warmth leaving

but she would pick 

it right back up, as

if it was only the idea of

sadness that I'd imagined.

/

February 14th.

My mother missed a call,

which is strange,

and I'm so used to tradition and

ritual at a young age, but I

don't question it.

Because my mother has

always loved me

even if I haven't seen her

in person

since I was born,

I know she has,

because every valentine she

would call.

//

February 14th.

I was in the car,

I remember,

driving home

after a long day

with my family

my father's face

hung low

but he still managed

to ask about my day.

As I grew, I knew when

he was going to tell me

something bad,

but I was 10,

I couldn't read the words

he was about to tell me, 

until they fell from his lips,

until I felt my heart

fall, too.

//

February 14th.

My mother died, 

there was no funeral,

she was cremated, 

I'd never seen her in my life

and I would never

see 

her

again.

I cried, but what for?

Crying for something I

didn't know?

For moments which could have

passed?

For time we could have

spent?

I cried, and I remember looking

at the obituary,

and seeing the words

written in

dark black ink, as

if it knew how my heart

felt as it 

bled.

I read the date:

February 14th.

I f*****g hate roses,

I hate the red of the

petals, the

red they spared my mother

of as they burned

her sad corpse.

I f*****g hate chocolate,

the chocolate of her skin

the chocolate which was

sweet like her smile.

I f*****g hate love.

I wanted to be loved.

I wanted my mother

at my side, loving me

with all of her big

heart, but now

that heart has

been encased in 

a ceramic pot,

in the corner of some

room, as people continue to live

and breathe, as they celebrate 

love every year.

I will never f*****g forget, 

and if I do, I'll know to remember

it every time I see

a red heart balloon

floating in the air, the

air filled with love

love and my quiet, 

disgusting,

hateful, 

despair. 

February 14th.

I still wait for her

calls, her smile,

large and warm

big and inviting.

I still wait for that

feeling in my heart,

which pools at the bottom

of my stomach.

That feeling when I get a

box of chocolate or

a card,

where I get roses, 

and a hug.

But it never comes,

it never comes,

yet year round,

Valentine does.

I want someone to fix

me.

Make my heart whole

again, love fully,

understand completely.

But I know it's impossible,

because as it does every year,

and every year it still will,

the month will roll by,

so will the lovers, and my

calendar will always read,

February 14th.

Author's Note

https://voca.ro/17JdCu5Iv4NT
I truly think reading this with the audio will be worthwhile.
I feel the death of my mother played a huge part in why I express how I feel in writing, I don't even write poems if I'm being honest, but she did, so sometimes makes me feel closer to the woman I never knew, but hope someday, as time passes, and as the February passes by, I will, even if it's not now.

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

your contralto voice is jazzy and infectious. this poem is definitely one to perform on open-mic. it has rhythm, narrative, and surprising rhymes. the confessional piece, with the big reveal in the middle (my condolences; my mother died this year...) is raw and emotive. slam poetry doesn't get better than this.

[maya_online]

I always love hearing from you, Ern! Hearing you talk about my voice warms my heart, and condolences to you as well, losing someone is always hard, but a parent is harder. Can't wait to hear from you again.

[SilentTree]

Wow, your words sure leaves a mark in readers. I love how your writing is so simle but deep, so easy to understand but so hard to hear. Thank you for sharing:)

Warmely SilentTree

[maya_online]

Hii ! So I've lost my account (cue like really sad music) but this is my new one, where all my updates will go !

[cain_notfound]

Wow. I mean like...s**t. I've never lost my mother, and I'm sure I would die without her, so hearing your experience made my heart sink at the thought of my own mother, the way you weave your words together to portray such a image for your readers is...crazy.

Your voice, which I'm sure i've said before, is so crazy attractive, with you being a writer, reading it out makes it hit twice as hard, somehow you seem sorrowful and unapologetic all in the same. I'm beginning to notice how you use repeated phrases to really make your poems impact readers, and it can only work for you, simply put, you don't use big terms to describe how your feeling, and while usually I can't sit through long poems, whenever I read yours, I feel upset they don't keep going. Gorgeous work.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

This just whacked me in the face...and then imploded my heart.

To never know a mother is such a tragedy.
And the mixed feelings of the speaker are brought to the forefront so well here.
Nice work,
j.

[maya_online]

Thank you so much! I'm glad I was able to produce such emotions !

[Vol]

Maya,
WOW! You have a strong, and powerful voice! A rare attribute in any online poetry.! I am impressed!
Vol

[maya_online]

I really appreciate your words! I didn't think my voice would change how people understand this poem, nor did I expect so many people commenting on it! Thank you, Vol!

[Vol]

I hope I'm saying it right... not the voice you sing with, but the voice you write with...
Writer's voice is a crucial element in writing that sets one author apart from another. It's the unique expression of the writer's personality, thoughts, and worldview that comes through in their work.
Key Aspects of Writer's Voice
Authenticity and Honesty: A writer's voice is fundamentally about expressing oneself authentically on the page. It's the unfettered, non-derivative combination of the author's thoughts, feelings, passions, dreams, beliefs, fears, and attitudes12.
Consistency: Typically, an author's voice remains consistent throughout their works, though it may reflect the era, location, and dialect of the piece1.
Distinct from Style: Voice is not the same as style, technique, or branding. It's more about the author's unique perspective and how they convey
Vol

[maya_online]

Ah! I understand what you're saying, I do think the more I begin to write poetry, my writing seems to have a certain feel to it! I thoroughly can feel yours throughout your writing !

[Vol]

Maya,
Voice is really the most important element of writing... Hemingway had his own voice, Faulkner too... every great writer finds their own way to say things so when it is strong enough, they don't even have to sign it. I don't know if you have ever read Charles bukowski, but if you do, he makes no pretense, he just says what needs to be said... no special words, no special rhymes, no tricksy little "poetry" nonsence... Anyway, I think you could go far with your natural instincts.
Vol

[John the Baptist]

Some pains heal with time, some don't. What is not said in so many words here is that the family was broken, so the speaker is dealing with that trauma as well as her mother's early death. The frank, spare delivery brings the pain right to us. I can only hope the wound closes some day.

[Antifranticbabydoll]

Wow, I'm speechless. The hurt, I can feel it listening to your words put together ever so elegantly.
I do not know what it is to live without a mother but this poem put me in your shoes for just a second. Absolutely heartbreaking, I cried. My words to you at this point are, as the years go on, the older you grow, the more you will learn to live and cope with these feelings. having lost someone dear to me, I know this. It doesn't make the pain go away, but, it does get easier and I think your in the right direction to start healing.
Keep writing, write from the heart and everything else will fall into place.
Much love, -M

[maya_online]

Your words mean so much to me, writing from the heart is all that I plan to do, and spoken word is really what I'm better at, so hearing you say this does give me the confidence to do more spoken word! Thank you!

[The_Ancient_Rock]

I feel sorry for your loss.
The reader can really feel your pain.
A brilliant work in writing, as well as honest.
Thank you so much for sharing.
Take good care friend.
Bright blessings.

[maya_online]

I appreciate your words, writing is one of the few ways we can show how we feeling, so this peace took some time, especially by making sure I took the correct stops in the audio, hope you listened to it as well!

[The_Ancient_Rock]

Thank you. Yes the best writers write about their feelings, emotions, raw passions, fears, love, well... Life and sometimes death. You did a great job on this one.
My humble thoughts. 😃

[DaniElle LaPointe]

The pain of the sun refusing to rise and fall according to our loss. Calendar dates sting. My brother died on August 28th. It was not a holiday but became marked day forever and ever after. Much love. Thank you for reading my newest piece.

[maya_online]

I hope your brother is resting happily ! I loved your most recent piece, and maybe the sun refusing to rise and like you said fall is almost like the world is saying we still have to get up, no matter what.

[DaniElle LaPointe]

Thank you, sweet friend.