Lydia Havens "On listening to Boy Problems by Carly Rae Jepsen while alone on a Saturday night"
Yes, I do wish someone would replace
the atmosphere in the room with gold glitter.
I also wish I had a virgin strawberry daiquiri
in my hand right now. I also wish
my hair was wavy enough that it framed
my face, & I could look like a ‘80s pop
patron saint. /// Yeah, I want to smear
my lipstick all the way down my neck.
Call all my best gal pals. Break some
faux pearl necklaces. Learn how to walk
in heels. Forget how to have feelings.
Become the damp light in the
nightclub bathroom. Light doesn’t
have feelings, does it?
(Yeah, I’ve got boy problems.) ///
/// & maybe I shouldn’t call loving someone
a problem. Maybe it’s just the act of making
that love quiet when all it wants to be
is a Pat Benatar concert. Or a floor-length gown
covered in sequins. Or just a random child
hanging around downtown, screaming
at the top of their lungs. /// Maybe now I get why pop-stars
always talk about dancing their troubles away.
It’s just me & Carly in my living room tonight—
I am barefoot & probably pissing off
my downstairs neighbor. I’m not heartbroken,
I’m just waiting for the hook.
The boy isn’t really a problem, and I’m not either.
Tomorrow I will probably cough up enough glitter
for an elementary schooler’s craft project. Tomorrow
I will hum along to all the songs stuck in my head,
just so it isn’t as quiet anymore