Cry as much as you want. Be that
girl in the corner, drunk on Benadryl
and Franzia, eating all the pizza and crying.
Babies cry when they’re uncomfortable,
when they don’t know how to say
they’re unhappy. Don’t get it twisted—
you’re not a baby. What I’m saying
is when there’s no vocabulary for it,
there is only sensation, a feeling
that something is not right. You’ll say
far too often, I don’t know why I’m crying,
but you know why you’re crying. One night,
a person you think you could love yells
at you about your missing hair tie,
and you feel small. Whatever you do,
don’t hold in the tears on your way
to the grocery store. If you do, your throat
will swell like a volcano full of wails, and tears
will leak out anyway, and you will soak your jacket
sleeves wiping salt water from your cheeks,
and you’ll pretend your sniffles are allergies
in December, and you will see your reflected
face, all shadow in the car window, and you
will feel so small. And your heart will grow
small too. It will clench itself like a toothed
fly trap, shutting in and swallowing all the
flies, using them for food.


So my Mom called me a Swiftie today and for some reason it really just hit me. An overwhelming feeling of pride overtook my emotions and I even shed a tear. I think we sometimes tend to forget how privileged we are to have Taylor as someone to look up to. How lucky are we that we were born in this era ?! One day people will look back and see all the record books filled with her name and her songs will be categorized as classics and we will be sitting on our rocking chairs on the front porch saying to our grandkids… I was there. I bought her CD’s. I attended her concerts. I got to meet her etc. How insane is that?!