Dear Taylor Swift,
I kinda' want to write these to you.
Not so you can write me some beautiful song or anything, not so I can suck up to you or anything, but just 'cause I want to believe that when I write something you're reading it...like, y'know, I might have a chance here. This is a place where I fit in. Where I'm not trapped on The Outside. I'm sure you don't feel like that anymore. Or maybe you do. What do I know about being famous? None.
Is it a curly-haired thing, perhaps? It's not like people ever hated me, or you, but of course we were different. Music infests our heads like...I don't want to say tapeworms, so I'll say jimmies (yes, I do say jimmies even though where I live we call them sprinkles) on a little boy's ice cream cone. That sounds at least a little less morbid, right? I'm rambling, aah. Like I was saying: curlies. 3B here, at least I think I am. All I know is it looks like yours...just not as flawless and definitely not blonde. I wish it was though; It's kinda' sorta' a brown with purples and reds. Again with the rambling...
Do you ever ramble? I (obviously) do. I tend to tell stories without trying to. I think you do that, too. With your songs. Maybe you just want to write music and show the world your emotions, but I listen to them like an audio-tape reading me off a tragic or beautiful story. Sometimes they're even tragically beautiful. Like Ronan for example. It shouldn't have taken my idol to make me realize other people hurt also. Little other people. But it did. Are you mad at me? If you are, girl, I'm real sorry. I want to make you happy.
Happier than John made you anyway. I learned Dear John on my Epiphone Hummingbird about a month ago. It's sounds even better as a raw acoustic. It's gorgeous. It might be my favourite from Speak Now. But, y'know, Last Kiss is good, too. And Long Live. And Back to December, Mine, Mean, Better Than Revenge, The Story of Us, and Ours. Also If This Was A Movie, Speak Now, Sparks Fly, Haunted, Enchanted, and Never Grow Up... So basically they're all good. ALL of them. Every single 200+ song. I really like your demo Matches. Next time someone says they love me I'll keep that in mind.
Sometimes I want to be a feminist. Would that be such a bad thing? Because men would still hate you either way. I want to be loved though, and I'm not lesbian nor am I bi-sexual, so that wouldn't work. So I just smile and those raunchy jokes they tell (now, now, I never said I don't tell them, too) and listen to your happy-romance songs hoping one day I can finally write one that's not about relationship-disasters.
Yep, that's right, I write some songs myself. I only play guitar and piano though. I'm gonna get a ukelele soon. Then I'll learn the banjo, and buy a mandolin. But I'll probably vomit on it because those things look hard. My fingers are probably too wide. I wrote a song three days ago, actually. It's called Outta' My Head. The chorus goes like this: I thought I was far from neglect, reject, I / I fell right through the trapdoor of your arms / oh I stopped believing all the bad things that they said / but I guess I let you get inside my head / so stay outta' my head. And it just changes after that, showing how I finally got over him. Well kinda' got over him. Mostly. Maybe. Okay not really. But still.
I thought about you at Steak 'n' Shake today. I don't know if they had those in Pennsylvania or Tennessee. Or even Cali. I'm in Ohio an they have a bunch here. Well anyway they've got all their fall milkshakes in. I know you like pumpkin spice things, like me. I love 'em. Well, all they had was s'mores (how the heck is that fall?) and caramel apple, so I just got chocolate. I figured that would suffice, since I had a pumpkin cupcake yesterday. It was delicious om nom nom.
My parents really like you. My dad especially (okay, gimme' a chance to explain myself, girl). You're just about all I sing to, and Daddy likes it when I sing. He always has...let's just say he's close to his feminine side. Har har. Maybe it's because he worries too much? He has M.S.. That means multiple sclerosis. It's a disease that damages the cushion (myelin sheath) around a nerve cell. He was diagnosed on my birthday when I was five...I'm fourteen now. So he's been a retired vet from the Cold War and from being a fireman and medic for...I dunno', more than five years plus. I vaguely remember one time, maybe it was a dream, being told he had seven years to live. But he's doing good. Last year he had an episode and he gave up. I mean it, too, literally. He stopped taking the new meds and quit therapy and he told the people who came to the house to stop coming. I was really scared. But he's okay now. He made it. I'm just dreading when the next episode comes. Until then I'll just sing with all my heart to him, using your songs (if you don't mind). He likes love, too. Thus he likes your songs. Your happy ones are his favourite.
Do mind if I do this every so often? Just, y'know talk to you like this? I've got a lot to say. And since it's a blog I figured... Sometimes they might be rants. You don't have to read those. You don't have to read any of these, actually. But you can if you so desire.
So, until next time I type something (which honestly might been soon, I apologize), let you and all your other fan and followers' love and hope Begin Again.
Love you Taylor,