Love: Part One
On Valentine’s Day, I attended a poetry space on social media and read a poem I wrote called Queen Bee. This verse paints a picture of reclaiming self-love, recognizing one’s value, and the joys of being a woman. Before that night, I had never shared it with anyone, and at that moment, I found myself in conversation with another poet I admire who said she loved my piece.
The poet of whom I speak was also the creator and hostess of this social media space; when I told her the meaning behind Queen Bee, among other things, she said that while love is a beautiful thing, it can also be a destructive force, which may not be wrong. Still, it causes you to look at what aligns or misaligns you. I thought her perspective was interesting, and it reminded me of something I had been thinking about earlier in the day.
I wondered how much truth there was to the phrase, love is blind, and how those sightless moments are often noxious. An example of destructive love I gave was when one ignores every red flag and silences all discerning voices because they are in love.
I likened that experience to driving across a bridge that one knows is unfinished rather than U-turning and beelining to safety; the co-host of the poetry space laughed as he chimed in and said that it surpasses destruction and is insanity. I couldn’t have agreed with him more because madness is an extension, a synonym of obliteration, if you will, in that you are abandoning reason for the sake of how you feel.
Afterward, the hostess expounded on what she meant by love being destructive; she said it destroys you in the most incredible ways, and as a result, you reconstruct as a better version of yourself. In terms of self-destruction or self-harm, she thought it was unfair to call love destructive in the same way because of how often people mistake it for things that it is not, such as co-dependency, lust, etc.
By this time, other poets in the space had requested to read their work, and I’d had the floor for approximately fifteen minutes, so I made no attempts to add further insight on the subject. I bowed out gracefully and continued listening to other great poets in the “building.” As I went to bed on a high, I awoke later that night to the discussion of love from the poetry space replaying in my head.
Had I had more time to discuss my thoughts in the poetry space, I’d have concluded that love is perfect, but people never will be, and individuals complicate life for themselves and others when passion gets improperly positioned. A perfect example is my past relationships; I fell head over heels and shared my world and love with two of the wrong people. I gave away soulmate adoration when each of them should have received unconditional, friendship love. In hindsight, I question whether or not they even deserved that from me.
While we can all give and receive love, we must correctly assign it to everyone in our lives. I didn’t know to do that then; I just ran in the direction of my heart and detached my head for a while. Back then, I didn’t realize I had to love who I was first and believed that my exes’ love for me would fill the rest of my glass; I was as wrong as the day is long! Even if someone loves you the right way, the relationship will falter if you see yourself the wrong way. And that is a note for any kind of relationship. Oh, and the exes never loved me, which further complicated matters, but now, I thank each of them for not falling in love with me.
Not that I don’t think I am a good catch. On the contrary, I am more golden than gold itself, and my fellow will be praising God for me, and I, for him. But I mean, in those times of singleness, I realized that my exes were incapable of loving me the way I deserved. Because I know how my soulmate should and will love me, I haven’t a tolerance for anything less. Yes, potential candidates have come into the picture since those college days relationships, but they were quickly torn out of it when I discerned that traveling down those roads went nowhere.
There’s a line from a movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, that I love: ‘a lady always knows when to leave.’ While the character who ‘left’ died, essentially, I died in those toxic relationships, starving for love that only I could give myself. And once I fell in love with who I was, I became a new creature: resurrected, complete, one step closer to the man of my dreams, but in-between time, I don’t bother counting the days because I am and will always be enough for me.
