I wrote a terrible poem with tons Taylor Swift and pop culture references. Here it goes:
I’ve never been on a car with any guy I like.
They don’t have that kind of money and I don’t know how to drive.
I’ve never had parking lot conversations in the middle of the night
Or discussions about futures while we let radio blast.
And I wouldn’t do much of the talking if I knew the lyrics of a song.
Why pay attention to you when Noah Kahan can do wrong?
I cannot relate to driving down deserted roads
or crashing into walls or telephone poles.
I cannot even sing Driver License by Olivia Rodrigo—
No one would give me a license, or give me a car and let me go
I don’t know about holding hands over the console
or hands on thighs that make you gasp.
No heads out of the window,
I mean, that’s not even really smart.
I cannot relate to half the songs that are out there.
No “fuck the patriarchy” keychains or “driving felt like red.”
No blue memories at midnight, or ever feeling gray.
At least not in a car, that’s not part of who I am.
I don’t even think I know if I wanna learn to drive.
I’d probably crash it into a wall
or a dumpster or another car.
Not magically, not poetically.
Not getting twenty stitches in a hospital room with Harry Styles.
Just tragic and predictable.
Like who the fuck would let me drive?
2087
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