Ode to Party Girl

In one of my project teams I have a party girl.
She is loud, she is short, she is a terrible driver.
She shrieks when her favorite songs come on the
radio. She doesn't know the words.
She is positive her opinion is right when it is based on
stupid. stupid. stupid things.
When I told you I had a headache from doing nothing
but reading for HOURS, you adamantly refused to turn
down the volume to that fucking baby bash song.


Constantly in my ear, harping away as if anything you have to say actually matters.
it never has. it never will.
You say the dumbest things and it makes me wonder how you haven't been hit by traffic.
Party girl, only stupid people can appreciate the things you say.
The rest of the world is indifferent to your thoughts, because... well frankly, they're worthless.
In all of your years of existence, you never stopped to understand. You realized from an early age that you exist, and that THAT is the only thing that should matter.

But reality exists around the bubble afforded by daddy's promise of a lexus.
Reality exists for people who understand that sometimes life is hard.
Your inability to work, marred by your shitty. fucking. attiude, your laziness regarding the thought process, your inability to learn ANYTHING... except how to party... these things make you a burden. a walking burden.

The density of thoughts running through your head is much like that of styrofoam. For the space you occupy, you should do better.

It will all collapse when you realize that the hands on the clock move, whether or not you do. That the sun does not rise because you want it to. That time has rotted you, both inside and out.
Maybe you will choke through the bitterness, in your old age, telling yourself that nothing is so, because you were a party girl.