28 days in this miserable month
named February.
(curses to her very existence)
and this year,
it isn’t Friday the 13th
that I fear; it’s the day after:
Saturday, the 14th.
a day that reminds me of my solitude
in the middle of millions celebrating
the disgusting characteristics
of love.

eew.
it really
makes me
sick.

i’m not afraid of superstitions
or solemn black cats;
ladders, spilled salt
or stepping on cracks.
today, i’m just fine
but tomorrow…i fear
that being alone
is all that i’ll remember.

if i see one more damn Kay commercial
or hear about one more chick
whose man went to Jared’s,
or witness one more pink heart,
Hallmark card or red rose
i’m likely to punch in a wall
or two
because, damn it all,
i deserve to be spoiled
and loved
and reminded how beautiful
and smart, and talented
and friggin’ magnificent i am,
if on no other day.

but for the 24th year,
i will be
lonely
on what should be a woman’s
fuzziest day…
the day that will become
my very misery
in the absence of what should be
the presence of him.

but he gave up on us.
and 28 days later,
exactly four weeks of space
in between us,
i will rise in the morning.
i will feel unloved.
i will crave the emotions
that other women will bathe in
as i remember
that this one day…
i’m a bitter lonely woman
who just wants a damn hug.

someone ask Chucky
or Jason
or Freddie
if they’ll take a break from killing
and be my valentine.
it’s not them i fear
on this largely cursed day.
it’s cupid who scares me.

Sunday, please,
come quickly.