Part 7...

We're all just ants scrambling on a mound, waiting for the queen. I would like to speak to her supervisor. How unimportant am I? No really tell me...I think it would suit my ego to know. Will anything I ever do make a difference in the world, the lives of others? If not, how do i attain a sense of accomplishment? Things I love will never save lives. Who is this queen and does she ever feel like I do? If not, what fills her time, her mind?

I'm not sure why I'm crying...I don't have it so bad. I expected somehow for the words to look differently, but they're still mine, they haven't changed. Why am I so sad? Drip, drip, drip. The faucet matches my tears. Will my body ever match my insides...maybe that's the problem, they do and I hate them both. I don't want to be the girl people pass their time with...stalling for something better. There has to be something better than this, something not so sad. Not so sad could be nice. Than what would I cry about? I would cry for others or maybe for joy and my tears would match the faucet...drip, drip, drip...a happy sound.