As I get to the edge of Lachine. The rain falls hard. And it’s not long before I’m soaking wet. My t-shirt clings to my chest. The damp denim rubs my thighs. I swear out loud to no one. I curse myself for being a gambler.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
what did you swear. God fucking dammit, mother fucking shit God dammit my go-tos.
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