RGMs: 26250942 e 32831897
Turma e turno: Estudos Linguístico-Discursivos em Língua Inglesa IV - Matutino
Poem chosen:
the woman who comes after me will be a bootleg version of who i am.
she will try and write poems for you to erase the ones i’ve left
memorized on your lips but her lines could never punch you in the
stomach the way mine did. she will then try to make love to your body.
but she will never lick, caress, or suck like me. she will be a sad
replacement of the woman you let slip. nothing she does will excite
you and this will break her. when she is tired of falling apart for a man
that doesn’t give back what he takes she will recognize me in your
eyelids staring at her with pity and it’ll hit her. how can she love a man
who is busy loving someone he can never get his hands on again.
Song chosen:
This poem by Kaur evoked our recollection of a musical album by the Japanese singer-songwriter Joji, bearing the title "Smithereens," which was released in 2022:
https://open.spotify.com/album/2hEnymoejldpuxSdTnkard?si=E8DsnvD6QCWD2GpEhWw4fQ&context=spotify%3Aalbum%3A2hEnymoejldpuxSdTnkard
The song “Glimpse of Us” featured on the album, as well as Kaur's poem, addresses the profound anguish resulting from the ending of a romantic relationship, coupled with the unwavering certainty that the subsequent union will lack the same authentic intensity as its predecessor, perpetually invoking memories of the past. Both artistic works encapsulate the perspectives of those directly affected. In light of this, we have composed the ensuing text entitled "(Not) The Other," with the aim of exploring this narrative from a third-person perspective: that of the individual who feels relentlessly pursued by the lingering vestiges of an unresolved love between their present partner and their former significant other.
Intertext:
In the attempts of winning you back over, I’ve lost my identity and my essence. So many times. But, honey, I could have done it for many other thousands. I swear, none of these insignificant inconveniences crossing our way mattered. I honestly thanked her for each time you got rejected. By putting you aside, she kept on bringing you back to me, under the sheets. So I’d choose you, on repeat. I really didn’t care, the reason didn’t bother me, or how much you feel for her and said you always will.
When I tried to insult her, you already had your next lines by heart: “she was my first love”. You knew it didn’t hurt, but there you’d go with the mischievous smirk. It was still me who stayed unconditionally. Unsuccessfully you tried to hide under vague compliments, by making it even more obvious, suggesting I’d look better on this or that, from hair to nails. On your reels, with your friends, you seem way happier than in our proposal frames. Although your excuses were already so predictable, I heard them until the very end, carefully waiting that this one time, the suffixes chosen would finally be different. That eventually and gradually you would get tired of mentioning her name and the “extremely fun times” you two spent together. Every single time I was wrong, though. It was irrelevant being a doppelganger. You were my addiction, I know it may sound corny, but I needed you. Of course your body too, but mostly you, entirely. All I had were scrumptious crumbs, and this fact alone tells me that no matter how miserably you’d treat me, unlike her, I'd stay like a loyal pet. Wiping my tears with your feet, made into a carpet. You made me insecure, yelling in my subconsciousness it was not enough to be just me, I had to be submissive to your pleasure and always be at your disposal when the other was not available.
That was how I used to feel. I wanted to be the only person allowed in your company, VIP, tracing the maps of veins of your whole body with my lips. I tricked myself, you can’t just light the wick if the candle melts. While you were at work, I found an envelope. Hoped it was a joke. All the beautiful words there directed to a nickname at first I thought was mine. Letters I thought were about me, had in fact, not only a glimpse of you both, but a shrine. I tried not to, but I cried.
Shortly after the internal crisis, it was just time for me to get ready. Driving like crazy, I went to our favorite bar, sat on that exact same far hidden spot and there I had all of our favorite drinks. With the last sip of that stupid clericot, I saw you one last time with that goddess slut. How could you do this to me, on our anniversary?!?! You promised before God on our vows to stay forever. Just tell me, what happened after? What was the true intention you had with this childish play since the beginning? Everything started so abruptly, like a past life meeting. But in fact, it was just you desperately looking for an empty place to sleep inside when the nights were rainy. You hit me once again with your emptiness. FUCK! Drunk, alone, and hopeless, I wanted you to turn around once again, glance at me and tell me your lies, looking deep into my eyes, saying what you said the other times, but now without acting all cold. I wonder what my answer could have been: “You jerk!” Regardless of you not doing the least to try to pull me close once, I brought you the moon, like on that glumpy song you made me listen to. There weren't any monsters under my bed, but a real sleep-paralysis-demon lying on it, making me breathless!
Look, I can’t fake a smile, but did my best to laugh at all your repeatedly unfunny jokes and even danced at your stupid-ass friend's party without wanting to, only to fit-in a group I looked so gauche in. Bullshit, is a summary. Now that it's over, finally, stop by to pack your trash and disappear from my sight, you have callously fucked my soul. I feel dirty-used, you made me an object of adornment for your need of someone else and for that got me bruised. My time you stole. Enough of the sadism core, what kind of love was that? Not too late to say: no more.
References:
KAUR, Rupi. Milk and Honey. Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2015.
JOJI, Glimpse of Us, Smithereens. Warner, 2022. 3:53
