A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

You don’t have to like her. You know well 
that I respect limits, and we’ve enough kinks
in common that the few that don’t overlap
don’t matter. But something you said
replays in my memory, and my ‘tism refuses
to let it go. You could have told me
you don’t like her voice, that you’re too old 
for modern pop, and country was never your thing.
Like other friends, you could have blamed 
some pathological demand avoidance traits: she
is too popular, so I just cannot like her 
when everyone else seems to. Maybe it’s personal - 
you think she’s fake, insincere.  (I’d disagree,
but I can’t prove my point anymore than you could 
have proven yours. But you tell me it’s the content. 
Specifically you said she just writes about girl problems. 
I’d never call you misogynistic or patriarchal, and maybe
that’s why this comment feels so out of place 
as it falls from the lips I was just kissing. 
She writes about love, and life, and feelings, and even drugs, 
and what’s that if not classic rock’n’roll.
I update my hyperfixation playlist the week you leave,
and nostalgically add some Thin Lizzy - did you know
they have a song that bears my name? 
Phil sings “I’m still in love with you”, and as the tracks shuffle, 
Taylor follows this up with “I’ve still got you all over me.” 
When Phil is worried he might just fall to pieces, Taylor
is a crumpled up piece of paper lying here. The parallels - 
is this the end? Or: is it over now? And even Phil admits
he makes his money singing songs about his exes.  
You’ve praised my poetry, yet though mine holds not
a candle to her flame, I see parallels as we both try
to process our experiences.  I’m a girl, writing about my problems, 
so perhaps you’re right, but you don’t seem to mind
when I do it. To this day, every time I hear a lyric
that reminds me of you or us, I contemplate
typing it out in a message, and seeing if you credit me
with the comment, or call it out as a girl problem,
only sending you those lyrics would be too honest, 
even for us.