All You Need is Love

Late last month, I got the idea to post a "love" poem every day in February. Thinking about it, I realised that 95% of my poems that could arguably be considered a poem about love aren't romantic. I just don't write romantic love poems all that often. I think I've written maybe three, ever, and I don't know where two of them are. (One of them ended up in Poetry Against Cancer.)

This, I decided, was perfect.

I'm not a fan of Valentine's Day. I find the idea of giving someone a five euro card and a box of chocolates or flowers and rushing out to an expensive restaurant to prove to other couples that you're in love a bit...odd. Especially since Valentine's Day seems to be some "romantic" competition. Everyone in a relationship has to do something on Valentine's Day, or no one will believe they're in love, or in a relationship, or whatever the heck sort of excuses people use to go out on Valentine's Day.

Frankly, it bewilders me. I don't think I'll ever celebrate it in the typical way. I don't think I'll buy someone a card produced en masse by a company who says it's romantic. I'd prefer write a poem that says how I feel.

Still, I think 28 poems on the theme of love is a suitable substitute. Even if they do cover a lot of the issues in a relationship that aren't necessarily romantic, like not talking to each other, struggling to understand each other, breaking up, trying to get back together, and not really fitting together.

Why am I posting them, then, if they're not romantic? Because they're real. I'm not about to write 28 poems that you could find inside a Hallmark card. Most of these poems only make perfect sense when you've lived my life. But they're about love. They're about the love I've felt, love that hurt, love that wasn't fair, love that still bothers me and love that fills me with joy.

I'm not Adele. I'm not putting these poems out there to make someone look bad, because the reality is they tell a story about relationships, from the bad separations right up to making up again. The first dozen poems or so cover an interesting arc in my life, and they'll continue on like that, taking snippets from my life when things hurt a little too much to celebrating moments when life just felt wonderful.

These aren't poems about me being in love. These are poems about how I experience it. Some will read angrily. Some will read pleasantly. Some will be sad, and some will be happy.

The Beatles once said "All you need is love." In a sense, that's true. But it doesn't have to come from a Hallmark card. It doesn't have to be limited to the person you share a bed with. Love isn't romance. Love isn't perfect. But, I think, if you really want to experience life, you need to recognise that you love someone. Love someone who hurts you sometimes. Love someone despite their flaws - because you stop noticing them. Love someone because they make you happy. Love someone who makes you feel confident.

And if you're feeling brave, tell them how you feel.

In 2012...

Look after yourself. You deserve more than heart ache and struggles. You deserve to smile more than "once in a while". You're better than that.

Love yourself. (But not too much: that's a sin, so they say.) Remember, though, that other people love you, too. Even if they don't say it.

Look after others. It's hard, I know. They might not want to let you. You might not realise who needs you. You might feel overwhelmed by them. None of that matters.

Be happy. Not just for yourself ("Your health is your wealth") but for other people. Smile. It's infectious.

Talk to people. Talk to friends about everything happening in your life, the good and the bad. Talk about nothing in particular. Talk to strangers. But:

Listen. Everyone has something to say. Keep talking and they won't get a chance.

And always remember what's important to you. When you say "I love you", mean it. When you care about someone or something, show it. When you believe in something, do something about it.

Never forget that you matter.

Sweetness

It's that most wonderful time of the Hallmark calender - Valentine's Day. Good Lord, someone set fire to the card displays (or just throw them out, like a co-worker accidentally did!). It's not that I don't like the idea of showing affection for people... it's just that I'm entirely opposed to the idea of Valentine's Day. Looking at the relatively new 'Pinkies Blog', I can see I'm not the only person living in Dublin that has this problem of once-annually limited-love.

It gets worse.

So. Much. Worse.

I go to a religious college. Things are supposed to be... well, religious. Not secular. Not at all secular. Not hanging red shiny banners and love-hearts and balloons and bowls of sweets on the tables.

Oh. My. God.

Really? Giving sugar to students? Pretending Valentine's Day means anything beyond Hallmark? It was disgusting (though the same cannot be said for the sweets...). I mean, it's not even like people were displaying any more affection than normal. They were just messing with the balloons and eating the sweets and generally not giving a damn about the whole thing. It was just a secular celebration bastardising a religious tradition of celebrating the martyr saint who believed in marriage. Marriage. See that word? I know you know what that means. It's not about cards with mushy messages on them on one specified day of the year (that's what anniversaries are for!). It's not about chocolates and romantic evenings. It's not about getting that special someone something shiny.

For people who care about presents and who want an excuse to show they love someone, Valentine's Day can be good. Of course, it's also selfish and an excuse for romance, as if it could save a marriage.

Complete and utter rubbish. More couples break up around now than any other time of the year! And the rest suffer through the process of having to get the other person something new and shiny for them to forget about two weeks later. It's like secularised Christmas, only without the mass that people feel obliged to attend.

As one of the candy hearts said today (yes, candy hearts... hence, 'Sweetness'), 'Bye bye'. (What an utterly romantic and fulfilling sentiment...)

An Experience with Age

I've just watched Benjamin Button; you know, the movie staring Brad Pitt based on the short story by F Scott Fitzgerald? It's got me thinking, especially since I'm turning nineteen on Monday, and my friend Lisa brought up a feeling of "insignificance" regarding her own life, friends are leaving college and I'm releasing a book of poetry in a few weeks... what exactly will life have in store for me?

I don't normally even pretend to be philosophical, but come on... this is a matter of life and... well, a life less interesting! I could spend the rest of life writing away at this blog, releasing books of poetry and writing away, or I could do it with a family. But.. which one? I've never had a girlfriend, so it looks like the former for now, but seriously - when does one normally begin to realise the utter loneliness of one's life? Surely not before their birthday, and surely not before the most commercial day of the year?

Soon-to-be-nineteen year olds with a perfect bill of health should not have to consider the most complicated aspects of their lives, or indeed the simplest, depending on how you look at it. You know, when people say you "just know" when you meet "the One." I've met the One, but it wasn't any way romantic for me, because the person I refer to as "the One" is the person who keeps me sane, not the person I'm madly in love with. So what do I do?

I don't think I've ever felt so lost about my single status until right now. I thought I was entirely happy being the way I am, not having to worry about a whole other complicated relationship in my life. They don't always work for me, so why am I looking for one?

Is this what aging is? I've only ever grown up once in my lifetime, and it's still happening. I don't know how it feels. I need the guidance of someone older than me, someone with more experience, but I can't say it to my parents - they're not approachable in that sense, even if my mother thinks she is. She'd make suggestions about the identity of the girls in my life, not find me my answers.

Do writers really need someone there for them, or is that just me?