As long as I have the time to write and the money to keep this apartment another month another winter another year then I’m doing good because in the past I did so poorly. Fail magnificently in your youth so whatever comes to pass is a success. Even from the gutter you can see the sun. I drink a cup of coffee before I go to a job that's killing me.
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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