_______ & Gabby’s Infinite Playlist

The tragic moment

came like waves

crashing against a jutty

bearing my name,

that the only one

who could make me the perfect playlist,

my incessant longing for a mixed CD,

was,

is

me.

The fact that you won’t know

ELO,

well,

that just breaks my heart.

And you might

long to put it together

with your typical

Maroon 5,

but I’d rather you impress me.

Bryan Adams,

Journey,

Elton John,

Elvis…

If you make a mix with Elvis—

yes, I will marry you.

Like every typical white girl,

I like Michael Jackson and

The Beatles.

I can’t stand Drake,

bypass Beyonce,

(but know I healed myself with Destiny’s Child),

just please,

spin a scratched up record of Billy Joel

(Tell Her About It).

I swoon over

Florence,

Ellie,

and
at Christmas Time,

Josh Groban.

Whitney is a classic,

and Ed Sheeran makes me cry.

(Give Me Love).

I love the 80’s,

cringe over Nirvana,

but have to blast “Smells like Teen Spirit”.

I will serenade you to Savage Garden,

and part of me collapses to the typical

Bon Iver

and Passenger.

I’m learning to like 21 pilots,

and, due to Pure Heroine,

have a new appreciation for Lorde.

I’m always down for funk,

Earth, Wind, and Fire

The Commodores,

Ohio Players, and

I was raised on

“Play That Funky Music (White Boy)”.

I want to dance Bachata,

and know all the words to “Como la Flor”.

I wish I was typical.

I wish I could say mix old school

Chris Brown,

Ne-Yo,

and Trey Songz,

but I’m not looking for my ex.

I’m looking for the next.

For someone who’ll get

me…

and all my musical intricacies,

difficulties,

complexities,

eccentricities—-

they told me to stop.

You told me to stop.

You said,
“Personality,

originality.

Unique,

and interesting.”

Bastille remixes playing in the background.

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