dear rina.

"tell me a story."

i told you the story of a gothic girl
& her best friend who wasn;t the type of best friend
you find in magazines & novels.

sometimes when i tell a story,
my story,
it;s a dentist chair experience.
like a needle to the mouth
or some kind of metal plier for a tooth.

i wonder why you;re there,
how i played the game of scrabble
& got the triple word scores.

twenty two years old.
that;s seven more than me,
but there;s kid inside of you
that makes me so fucking envious.
i use big words
& i;m still trying to fit into suits
& make fake ids accepted with batted eyelids
& a flash of picket-fence teeth.

there are people i know who fall behind.
there;s a game of limbo no one knows they;re playing
& the bar seems to rise higher,
because humans fall lower.
no one ever knows where they are according to the game.

according to me.

& this is what i;m famous for.
imfamous for.
verbal diahrroea & all that.

i love you
you don;t confine me like cold, steel bracelets
you;re an indigo girl.

thanks for being born.
& the e-mails at two o'clock in the morning,
just because i asked for a reply.
& being called rina (not tina).

i was going to start putting my faith in the beatles,
pierce my head with weed or religion.
put my thoughts away with ribbon & sleep all day.

i have a hitler list that runs my life.
& says good girl, bad girl, worthless worm.
i have a hitler list to help me breathe.
to be a rock inside my lungs.

you;re a change to unsolid ground.
you;re somewhere in time with me
& i wouldn;t give you up for anything.

stick around. & happy birthday.

- ash.

but i don;t think you ever got to tell me your story.

music: never heard of it; she;s over it
mood: guilty