Playlist: I’ll Leave This Room

By Taylor

these are some poems (i use that term loosely) i’ve written over the past few weeks. each poem accompanies each track on this playlist, and i’ve incorporated my favorite line from each song into each poem. they’re mostly about going back to college after a real shitty summer (not auto-biographical whatsoever!)

i.
tomorrow we’re set to leave at 9 A.M.
so, roughly,
10:45, 11-ish
i’ll sit in the back of a rented dodge durango
twiddling my thumbs
only to alleviate the strain of my carpal tunnel
in between scrolling through some
dumb idiot’s dumb tumblr
any variation of 420buttpussy.tumblr.com
i’m loving the high road!
i’ve never felt better!
change is always nice
when the feelings
you didn’t know you had
start to take its toll
FUCK
do you have any quarters

ii.
august on the beach
vomit on your button-down–
or was that july?

iii.
our childhood bedrooms
will be converted
into guest rooms
or where mom’s new elliptical
will collect dust
once we’ll be leaving home
our childhood bedrooms
become spick and sparse,
devoid of pimples and pornhub,
a B- research paper on the lost generation,
and a picture from a limited too photobooth
once we’ll be leaving home
these all cease to exist,
not in storage units or attics
but nestled away in memory
which,
like childhood bedrooms,
are always subject to change

iv.
i thought i was being pretty fucking covert,
periodically lifting an article off your hangers
for a series of months
each of your plaid shirts
well,
(as long as we’re taking inventory):
it was two plaid shirts,
3 t-shirts,
one cowl neck hoodie,
and well
the point is that i had enough of you in my room
so that if you one day disappeared
i could send a pack of basset hounds
to bring you back
but, what actually happened,
is that my seasonal allergies returned
so i switched from claritin D to allegra
and felt just the same
but–
i’ve come up with a sound solution!!!
i’ll leave this room

v.
i like to lie on the floor
and stare at the ceiling
not in an angela chase kind of way
i just hear it helps relieve back pain
you can join me,
if you want
but i’m not going to hold your hand
you can join me,
if you want
but i’m not going to tell you you’re handsome
you can join me,
if you want
but i ate too many funyuns too kiss your face
you don’t mean a thing to me!
so let’s just see what happens

vi.
one afternoon,
in a neosynephrine-induced stupor,
i was watching the people’s court
and this commercial came on that asked
“do you have mesothelioma?”
i shook my head
but asked my mom how long it’s been
since the air vents have been cleaned
she laughed and laughed
as i thought
“i am going to die of mesothelioma”
didn’t think it’d be this way,
i figured, maybe,
it’d be a head-on collision on i95
or a pulmonary embolism
but no,
ASBESTOS!!!
this is all hella unchill
i dreamt that the honorable marilyn milian
came to visit me in my bed-ridden state
while you sat in a parked 1993 camry,
fingering your girlfriend

vii.
i prayed for your misery once
i wished for your roommate to be a pike
a portly bro, decked out in
ralph lauren (an outlet bargain) and boat shoes
you’ll nervously giggle when portly bro says the phrase
“asking for it” as he crushes a miller lite on his
mostly vacant head
it’s not you,
just a version of you that makes me laugh
anyway,
you’d have prayed for me just the same,
i imagined
since i got a panera bread-bowl-eating methodist named christie
plagued with vocal fry,
and who once posited that fat people are “depressing”
but i digress
and maybe–
i think i was too engrossed
with notions of mutually-assured misery
that i registered for 7 classes and slept standing up
for an entire semester
but this new one i hear:
she won’t go to class
but she’ll sleep in your bed
hey wait hold on–
are these communion wafers gluten-free

viii.
cool hot fun young teen,
you are so beautiful to me
let me lick your salty, tan skin
let me sip your dirty chai!
can i read you T.S. eliot?
no?
john who?
green?
alright
i am your slave,
i am your human pasta strainer
you, know, like the water–
ah, well
i think you are lovely anyhow
in valencia
sierra,
even kelvin
women may crush wednesdays,
but they sure hate mondays!
am i right?
oh, you’re busy?
i’ll just be here
it’s cool

ix.
fade in:
INT. a musty garage that smells like coffee grounds and wet dog

i screamed at you
for screaming at me
for not understanding ikea directions
“they make it hard on purpose so you pay extra to get it installed”
“that’s for idiots”
“ok well i’m an idiot either way, so”
you gave me an 8-minute spiel on planned obsolescence
as sweat gathered on my forehead
i looked at my watch periodically
to gauge time
but mostly so you’d just shut the fuck up
i know!
i need to stay

fade out

fade in:
EXT. a green toyota camry
“top of the world” by the carpenters is playing on 101.5 lite FM

we drove to the container store
and screamed in 4 out of the 7 aisles
they had available for us
i know i need to stay

fade out

x.
polly,
my academic advisor,
told me i’m “off track”
which,
was not surprising to me whatsoever
i once took the same math class twice
without even knowing it
i was going to drop oceanography
until a cute thing in a pavement shirt
sat down next to me
i bought a $10 study guide
for my intro to biology final
and forgot to look at it
my textbooks all serve as
very expensive coasters
and the only time
i’ve ever used a graphing calculator
was to write “suk a dog dik”
ok
ok!
you get the point
now i am going to finish school

xi.
it’s nearly noon
so turn the light off

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