Looks Like We Made It

a Saturday morning (revised) poem.

Welcome to the Saturday Morning Poem Summer Revision Series.

I hate this.

It’s Shania fucking Twain, what more do you want? No, the title does not match this video. +1 mana boost if you noticed.

Original

shania twain doesn't deserve for me to hate her.  

i hear her. 

i hear her. 

i hear her.

i hear her.

i hear her. 

i hear her. 

i hear her. 

i hear her; i hear you; i wish i could only focus on the song,                                              

but all i hear is her s-----inging over the song      

giving me my voice, and silencing it. 

                                                                                                                        angry

that i tried to sing along?

             "hey, let your mom sing. she loves this song..."

Revised

Shania Twain does not deserve for me to hate her, but—
I hear her;
I hear her. 
Not her, but...

her—singing. 

I wish I could just focus on the song, but
all I hear is her

singing over the song
so, I sing along.


"hey, let your mom sing. she loves this song."
he said. 

Editor’s Note:

The nonsense was made into a sort of sense. This is all I could do.

Author’s Note:

Uh, this poem felt like a void. One time, when I was pretty young, I was in the car with my mother and stepfather (of the time). We were stopped at either a fast-food place or a gas station, I couldn’t say now. A Shania Twain song had come on the radio, the one where she sings “looks like we made iiiiiiit, look how faaaar we coome my bab-ayyy. mighta toook the looong waaayyyy…” and I knew the lines pretty well. I sung along, having heard my mom do the same many times before. I was also in chorus, maybe? I was eventually. I always liked to sing. I had hoped this would be a connector, especially in the moment.

It was not.