Dear Rachel,
I know why you are unhappy:
you will be fake forever.
you can dye your hair lime green, hot pink, and electric yellow
and people will ask your sister where she bought her shoes.
you can slosh down your dinner with vodka and clozapine
and your roomate will ask if you want more pot roast.
you can fuck the mailman
and your dad will ask if his Time magazine has arrived yet.
you can graffiti grandma's house
and she will ask when you learned how to paint like monet.
so just sit there.
let the awful times roll.
they come in pretty colors.
the plastic will melt
once you forgive yourself
for being just like everyone else.
so keep singing those sad songs about what's his name
wondering if he still touches himself when he looks at your picture.
you're naked in it
and his friends probably ask if it's art.
7.14.06
.
