Why I no longer give flowers

Everyone winds up heart broken in middle school. For me, The feeling was always accompanied by the sweet scent of roses. There was this girl, as there tends to be. To me: astrophysics smart, supermodel hot, funny as Mr. T in a horror movie, cool as icy-hot during the icy phase. This shawty was fly, and she knew it. Let me just put this in perspective, she would make Heath Ledger speechless (though nowadays…too soon?)

As for me, the genius with a plan that was so original, so unique, I feel guilty reprinting it (I got her flowers and hung them in her locker with one of those little “secret admirer” notes, baller, right?), I thought I had it made with this girlie. I could see us walking into a party and everybody would get quiet like they do in those teen movies just to let us pass. Yeah, it would be that awesome when she saw this present. Movie awesome. But, you know, I played it cool. I bided my time, because I wanted to be “hard to get”, like a rubic’s cube. Or an adult joke.

So here comes lunchtime, and I sit at her table like I do most days, and lean really far back in my seat to look “chill,” and she’s just skipping down the hall without a care in the world and big bouquet of flowers in hand. My heart does the things that cliches say it does, but something’s off. These aren’t the flowers I left in her locker. They’re someone else’s. They dated for two years.

Here’s where everyone reading goes “oooooo,” but not in a good way and their hearts break a little. The point of the story though is not to garner sympathy (though that’s always nice, especially if it increases readership). No, my point is this: I no longer buy flowers on Valentines day for the sole reason that they’re damn expensive then. February 15th, however…and now, a poem:


Eros was a forlorn being.
Before the short season of human deities,
he had a hard time helping organisms get it on.

For ages, he would wander the countryside
with eyes for finding some single-celled bridegroom his
wife (or another bridegroom if he were into that sort of thing.
Cupid, of Greek origins, was hardly right-wing)

the majority of Cupid’s wisdom was long ignored,
his song not heard by life forms with
no ears nor love for sonnets.

Every easy strategy that works so well now,
Like the sound of electronic power chords
beating from backyard boomboxes
to the “damn, you fine,” lines of playa prophets,
had no use in a prokaryote universe.

And flowers didn’t effing exist yet
so there was no trading
those for pillow play

and indeed, bacterium are
notoriously difficult to breed,
they’re so damn egotistic;
making copies of their genes alone
(jealousy thy name is size 00), they
practice only masturbation

and how do you convince an asexual
colony to get it on when there’s no love between
sister cells (that would be incest)?

Let’s be honest, our god of love was
a combination of the chubby kid in gym class
and the kindergarten line “if you love it so much,
why don’t you marry it, and have kids
and sit in a tree and
K-I-S-S-I-N-G and
Iike each other
and love each other
and stop looking in the
effing mirror making damn copies
Of yourselves, narcissistic cells?!?”

Then along came romantic comedies
and on the speck of a speck of a speck
of space time that we occupy,
Olympus was reborn.

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