I roll off the couch where I slept. It’s cold standing there in my underwear. But I take the time to look myself over in the mirror because the red light throws pleasing shadows. And this is the hour when I feel my best. My skin is tight. My stomach small. I shiver. I’m happy.
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.
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