Bad Poem Roast
In this Easter Egg, Taylor and Martheaus are opening the vault to their bad poems, and then roasting each other. Both of these poems were written when T/M were adolescents, and they are awful. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: we have not, do not, and will not EVER discuss the work submitted to us this way. This exercise was for fun and games only. We think reading your work is sacred and we are grateful to everyone who submits.
Cling - By Taylor
This is just a pen
Of ink and plastic
As I am just an
Girl who is also a daughter
Ocean of organs
Itching and pulling
Across the paper skin
Of a family I am
Too sensitive for
Which is to say
It is easier to be
My mothers friend
Than her daughter
Laughter like forgiveness
Instead of more
To apologize for
She is just
Who she is
And ardor and permanence
I pray for the woman
Who comes for her son
Takes him from her
The day all she’ll have left
Is my father
And his gray hair
A reminder of her own
Of her fear of aging
It is never just a pen
I am never just the
Daughter she raised
To be strong
I am her last chance
To control a story
She can no longer write
Martheaus’s Roast:
ahhh there’s nothing more exciting than starting a poem with a pen image
All of a sudden I have the urge to watch Notting Hill. “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a ocean of guts”
No no no! Get out while the getting is good—don’t which is to say me.
What is even happening? Should’ve kept this one in the notes app
You were 16 when you wrote this? I can tell.
Taylorrrrrr we get it! Come on now, you started this poem with “ocean of guts” and now you’re doubling down on the pen again????? Really
Ha each line reads like it could be an end (or maybe that’s because I just wanted it to end quicker).
Mmm. Gotta say I’m a sucker for melodramatic YA endings to poems.
Oh one last thing, horrible title.
You have written some of the most exciting images and metaphors I’ve ever read…but they ain’t here.
Taylor’s Roast:
I mean, where to even begin. There’s horny poems and then there’s HORNY poems and this one sets the tone pretty quick doesn’t it?
Listen, I think there is a time and space for end rhyming. But at least be consistent? Martheaus, you are all over the place dude!
I think the “Oh baby” is so funny I can’t even write about it. Like an unironic “Oh baby”. Gold.
I think this is about the time you start to realize this poem is about Chef Boyardee disguised as a woman and I think that makes it both better and worse at the same time.
BOO BEAR?! BOO BEAR?! You’re killing me smalls. If that doesn’t make you giggle, I’m convinced you are soulless. It’s better if you know how Martheaus talks but OMG, literally BOO BEAR HAHAHAHAHA.
Martheaus, are you tasting the father here or the girl? Do you even know? What is happening???
Look at you setting yourself up as a white knight to pasta’s captivity. I’m dead lol.
Readers gotta understand, Martheaus sat down and wrote a love poem to beef ravioli instead of just admitting he was lonely. It’s kinda sad but then I read this poem again and cry myself laughing and I feel less sad.
It’s crazy how much you have grown as a writer since you wrote this!
On this Valentine’s Day, I must admit
That loneliness enflames my drive for sex.
So, I apologize my dear journal
For you cannot cover your ears to this.
Oh baby, I just cannot help but say
How delicious and plump you look today.
“Mini” is your name but you pack so much.
Your red top accentuates those curbs well.
Please, take my lips and I’ll donate my tongue.
We will give Chef’s kiss a whole new meaning.
I don’t care you have been tasted by all
But know I do not want you the same way
Boo bear, I swear I’ll give you anything
I want way more than a quick lunch from you.
No need for a fork, no need for a spoon
I’ll use my fingernails to scoop you up
To scoop your tiny, meaty innards out
I hear you have an Italian father:
A flavor I can almost taste from here.
I beg you! Lay the secret beef on me.
I promise to save you from your tight can.
I want you this bad because I’m lonely
Take me whole, mini beef ravioli.