Maggie Robinson

Maggie Robinson is an “accidental” writer and occasional poet. She will also not hesitate to tell you that she is bad at bios. In addition to being a poetry editor, this is her first published piece for Venture. She also likes cats, Taco Bell, and the 1990 film Pump Up the Volume.

Track 01: “Why Can’t I?”- Liz Phair: Have you ever had a playground crush that felt so seismic that you felt the need to stare out the window and sing along to a romcom soundtrack; feeling things that no one could possibly understand?

His name was Ricky. He had hazel eyes, wore braces, and thought KFC was too spicy. That last one was not an exaggeration. Our moms were friends and we sat across from each other in third grade. I had crushes before, mostly on cartoon characters, but this felt different. There were butterflies, girls and boys chasing each other around the playground, my best friend and I attempting a love spell. I probably should explain that one. In between enthusiastic discussions of Bratz dolls and Girl Scouts, Aimee handed me a note. “Sun of moon, sea of fire, let him be my true heart’s desire”.

“Put this under your pillow and say it three times before bed”, she said. We were really into Charmed at the time. I would do this ritual every night for three months. Shocking probably no one, it did not work. I wanted to kiss him, despite feeling too embarrassed to articulate it even in my own mind. A simple “Hi” from him would send me to cloud nine. Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. He took up so much space in my brain, if not all of it. This is probably why I still struggle with long division.

Track 02: “Doll Parts”-Hole: Sixteen, a dangerous age. Emotions and desires are in overdrive and the brain will not be fully developed for another decade. A psychology professor once compared this to a speeding car without any breaks.

He was gangly, nerdy, and tortured. He loved Neitzche, wanted to be a writer, and questioned whether forever really existed. I considered him to be my best friend in high school. When I fell in love, it felt like getting hit by a truck. The feeling was not mutual, but he had other ideas in mind. I settled for the role of an ever-loving fuckable object. Made to be tossed aside when he got bored. Made to be the target of his anger. Made to have my consent taken away time again. I was told by friends repeatedly that he was not worth it. Yet still I was willing to burn down the world for him, taking myself down with it.

Track 03: “Moonchild”-King Crimson: Not too long after graduation did it hit me how fucked up everything was when it came to him. I was already diagnosed with depression and anxiety at this point, but the realization that I was on the receiving end of sexual violence was a breaking point. Like throwing kerosene on an already raging fire. I had a full on mental breakdown. I struggled with leaving the house and essentially became a hermit for three years. I never wanted to be seen, and as far as I was concerned every man was a monster. I felt disgusting, monstrous, unlovable. I wanted out of this skin that felt like it was covered in slime. The only thing that kept me going (except not really) was an acidic, boiling anger aimed both at myself and the world around me. My parents were understanding, but I knew they were struggling to make sense of this new person in front of them. I also became a full blown insomniac, often watching movies until the sun came up, binge eating to avoid feeling anything. My favorite at the time was Buffalo ‘66. Those years were a blur truthfully. It would be a decade before I fell for anyone again.

Track 04: “Everybody Lost Somebody”-Bleachers: Twenty-five, the age my mom was when my grandma passed. Twenty-five, the age I was when she passed. It was breast cancer, stage IV. She fought for three years and lasted longer than most people thought. But that did not change the fact that it was bullshit the way my siblings and I only had two decades with her, that she will never see the adults we will become. Bullshit that my parents wouldn’t get to grow old side by side. Bullshit that she now only existed in the form of memories. Jack Antonoff sings “I am lost in a world without you” and it is the only thing keeping me together. I learned that grief is a form of love that will never go away, rather you learn to make room for it.

Track 05: “Outside”-George Michael: It was the pandemic, so aside from trying five million hobbies there was not much else for me to do but reflect. Something in my brain clicked that the way I was carrying my unresolved trauma from all those years ago was not sustainable. I was tired of hating myself, desperately trying to hold on to my accumulated rage. In the wake of my mom’s passing and the feeling that the world was going to end, I just could not anymore. I started going to therapy. I was diagnosed with PTSD, and wrote a lot. I came to terms with my sexuality, long held at an arm’s distance, and embraced my bisexuality. I also listened to tons of pop music, the kind that made you want to flock to the nearest dance floor. I learned to prioritize platonic love in friendships. I learned that maybe I could love myself, even if it was only a little. I’m still a work in progress, going to therapy and trying to be a better friend both to others and myself.

Track 06: “Shotgun”-Soccer Mommy: DJ and I at my Aimee’s wedding. He was the best man, I was the maid of honor. I guess I got my romcom wish after all. DJ lives in Ohio so we have to get creative with dates over Discord, twice a year visits, and endless texting. He looks like a lumberjack and does hilarious voice impressions, the kind where my laughter turns into psychotic screams. He knows about my messiness, yet it does not scare him because he has his own. He talks me through my panic attacks as we go on long drives together. He adores my siblings and wants to pay his respects to my mom. He also eats potatoes raw like an apple and it’s weird as hell. We are now talking about moving in together. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows because no healthy relationship is. We came into this with our respective traumas and are facing them head on together. I love this. I love him.

Track 07: “the space between two world”-nujabes: We are learning about poetry. The professor tells us it is probably not a good idea to write about love. It is overdone, often to a mediocre degree. Besides, we are far too young to know what love is. With all due respect, fuck that, I think to myself. I will write all the love poems I want. Ones about my boyfriend, ones about my friends, ones to myself. This is what will sustain me.