"Sisterdy so, she's pretty, sisterdy oh, what I wanna be."
My sister. So bright. She writes and writes and writes. In this zine, in that book, on her screen, but I can't look.
Sister. Where do all these ideas come from? What have you experienced that I haven't? Is it so different?
Seven years is a long time. I understand you, I really do. But do they?
You tell me I'm gonna be the successful one and I'm the most loved. I have a long way to go still, it's you that the clock ticks for.
What I have realized is that success and love are a state of mind. You can do or feel whatever you want to. It's the people around you who try and change you.
I'm glad you did what you wanted for New Years. Everyone asked about you. Let's not do what they want us to anymore. Ohh sister. They talk about our country, look at theirs. You are the successful one already. Look at this page, look at this zine. Success is spelled in every line. I see it, do they? Who's they anyway?