I go through the motions because they make me feel good. A little bit of control. Deep breath. The world around me is a swirl. Like sitting on a merry-go-round looking out stripped of any cheer in my soul. Palms placed on the countertop I hang my head. What day is it again. Steam rises up from the coffee pot.
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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