diana sayers {d7} cb, fin

I go from the heart, not the head.

My heart knows no boundaries. My father likes to put us on a pedestal because we own one of the most successful paper companies in the District. Daddy says I'm good at getting important clients on his side, but I'm not sure that his side is the right side.

Daddy's little princess Di—I have his eyes, a single dimple and the smile that won my Mom over.

But I don't think that I am the princess he wants me to be, though. To him, there is separation between the poor and rich; workers are simply workers and they should bow to their superiors. I don't think like that, and I hope I never will. Inside, we are all the same; a collection of parts trying to worm our way through the world. Rich, poor, boy, girl, tall, short—I'd shake their hands, I'd hug them: Heaven knows some of them need it.

It is these differences that make me think that I'm outgrowing the unwritten rules about how to be the perfect daughter; I just like to be a free spirit. Daddy probably doesn't like it, but that's the way I am. A girl against the exploitation, sly handshakes, scamming and unfair hours—my heart doesn't like it one single bit. If it were me, I'd pay them with love. Half of them are lonely and single, some of them aren't much older than me and left home to make a name for themselves.

The only thing that happens is that they sign it on a dotted line and kiss their time goodbye. One fell swoop; it is like a sentence. My heart hangs heavily. Feeling unloved—to me, it is a disease. I know that I can give love for a minute, for half an hour, for a day, for a month—I can give. I am very happy to do that, I want to do that. Maybe I can be the cure.

When I grow up, I don't want to be Daddy's princess. I want to be a princess of the world.