Storytime:
About a year ago, I was talking to this boy and things got (somewhat) serious between us. We lived in different states but went to the beach together, and we were Snapchat flirting for like, six months.
He might have asked if I would come live with him in a tropical sailboat after college for a bit; I might have said yes. He might have said he was in l*ve with me … Things happened.
Before anyone starts cooing, I will tell you this relationship did not work out.
Fast forward a few months, and the home chicken completely ghosts me—I’m talking radio silence here—and starts dating this super hot girl immediately. It was kinda quick, but I honestly wasn’t that surprised.
So I move on, and I’m talking about it one day with some girl friends who also know this dude, and I mention the poems he used to write and send to me at night.
“The poems?” one girl asks, and it’s then I remember she and homeboy used to hook up for a while there too.
And I’m like, “Yeah, they were super cringey,” and she’s like “Oh my god. I used to get those too.” Then I laugh, and she laughs, and the third girl pipes up and asks “Wait, did he send you one called ‘Her’?”
And we’re like “Yes,” but we’re also like, “You also got them?”
And we sit there blinking at each other for a second and then whip our phones to pull receipts on this a$$clown because, as we discovered, he had made the mistake of sending the same lovey-dovey poems to three different girls who he knew were friends and did not expect them to talk about it.
Let me tell you, nothing has ever been more satisfying than going around, readers theater style, and enjoying his poor, sh!tty, emo poetry together, knowing that it had all once been meant “just for us,” when in fact he had been mass-sending this stuff forever. Honestly, girls support girls. We got so much closer that day and never looked back.
Today though, in honor of that poor bozo, I’d like analyze one of his finer, earlier works from the perspective of aesthetic appreciation and put my English degree to work.
*ahem*
Lighthouse
A unique structure, existing only to help people.
A light in the darkness, direction through the storm.
She will always be there, time and time again.
Telling you where to go, leading you home.
She stands strong, winking at you as you leave,
And shouting at you, calling you home at night or during a storm
She will always be jealous of your love to the sea,
But will save you from her anger many a time.
God, it’s lovely, isn’t it? You can really feel the long-distance angst and desire. There are some great images in there though, right? Some nice traditionalism. We understand that he’s adventurous, while I’m steady, shore-bound, patiently awaiting him. Because what else are women supposed to do in poetry but wait for their men?
“Winking at you as you leave” is probably my favorite line. What winks, ladies? Lighthouses. And what else winks? Flirty girls. I’ll give him that one.
“She will always be jealous of your love to the sea.” Read: She will always be “jealous” that you are sleeping with other girls. The Facts: I was not. In fact, I made it very clear I did not care what he was up to so long as I got included. (In the end, I believe he wanted to feel a little more needed, and I missed some signals, hence the quick turnaround maybe? Idk, men are weird.)
Overall, it’s an exquisite example of terrible, high-school-boy, wank-off poetry, and, honest-to-god, I love it so much. Like, no one will ever romantically top this in sheer levels of confidence and straight-up nonsense, and I lose my sh!t reading it every time.
Therefore, to the boy who absolutely did not love me but is keeping me endlessly amused with this poem, and several others, thank you so much, and I look forward to reading your full anthology one day.