Taylor Swift Wrote A Vogue Poem

Taylor Swift Inc. wrote a poem, or in her case as a singer, a song, for her hyped-to-death Vogue spread, and if you’re one of those Taylor h8ers out there who assumes it’s going to sound like a Tumblr post from a sad girl about to kill for Slender Man, you would be correct. In spite of just yesterday standing bravely on the cover of Time’s rape issue and taking a super sincere larger interest in people besides herself, but not really, Swift is back in her Lisa Frank diary, recounting with the flourish of her glitter pen the time she fell for someone but then remembered that she has shitty instincts and then reminded herself not to get jaded and still go for moonlight swims. These could have easily been reject lyrics from her 2006 debut album and if I were Vogue I’d ask for my money back. The title is The Trick To Holding On. Alternate title: The Trick To Hoing.

 

Let go of the ones who hurt you
Let go of the ones you outgrow
Let go of the words they hurl your way
as you’re walking out the door
The only thing cut and dry
In this hedge-maze life
Is the fact that their words will cut
but your tears will dry

They don’t tell you this when you are young
You can’t hold on to everything
Can’t show up for everyone
You pick your poison
Or your cure
Phone numbers you know by heart
And the ones you don’t answer any more

Hold on to the faint recognition in
the eye of a stranger
As it catches you in its lustrous net
How quickly we become intertwined
How wonderful it is to forget
All the times your intuition failed you
But it hasn’t killed you yet
Hold on to childlike whims and moonlight
swims and your blazing self-respect

And if you drive the roads of this town
Ones you’ve gone down so many times before
Flashback to all the times
Life nearly ran you off the road
But tonight your hand is steady
Suddenly you’ll know
The trick to holding on
Was all that letting go

It’s kind of like Garth Brooks’ “Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers” but with more vehicle and stupider. Or maybe it’s about being grabbed by a DJ. Or her dad. I don’t fucking know, but I do know that I’m pissed at myself for not letting go of this poem before I read it. 

^{Photo Credit: Mr. Skin}