My Roman Empire || The First Girl Who Made Me Question My Sexuality

In no way do I think this is some deep philosophical poem; I wrote it after meeting a girl... There are millions of poems like that. Anyways, I don't write poetry anymore, and when I did was an amateur, so please do not come for me. Spacehey is a place where I don't want to care about what others think of me, and I want to be as true to me as possible, and that includes all the shitty poetry I wrote that I still to this day shit on and yet deeply cherish. So, I hope you can relate, laugh, and or think of a similar time that brought such feelings.

It's a poem about a girl I met at my best friend's 18th birthday party. We clicked well, and everything about her was so alluring, leaving me starstruck the whole party. We talked and talked. She even told me I was such an easy person to open up to, and I took that with such pride. I was into poetry at the time, and she was too, which ties into my next point. When she told me she was leaving, I told her I'd write shitty poetry about her, and if I remember correctly, she agreed, even saying I was the "kind of person people write poetry about". To me, it was magical, but in retrospect, it kinda sounds corny and pretentious. 

“I’ll Write Shitty Poetry About You.”

By Brody Pagett

At Natasha’s 18th birthday, 

I hope this doesn’t sound like a cliché.

That I spent hours after

writing about Ramona Flowers.

–

Baby Bangs and The Cure, 

confused and unsure.

I could take her out,

maybe push these homoerotic feelings offshore. 

–

We smile in ambiguity.

My best friend in another life,

or perhaps my doe-eyed wife.

I tell her she's my muse.

That between this blunt,

we were lovestruck on church pews,

or singing 1920s blues,

maybe dying in World War 2.

Now we're teenage losers,

no car or license.

Pacifists who now believe in science.

–

The party comes to its end 

and we’re no longer knee to knee.

I wonder when we’ll next meet, 

brief and free or long and diseased.

–

So, when you think of me, do you write?

Do you remember the shitty poetry we promised that night?