I take my day's pay and wish the boss luck while wiping my hands of the place until next week. Outside wet snow falls. I pedal away under the the gaze of a hooker shuffling around on the corner like a dance to stay warm. I hope her next trick comes quick. I hope he turns up the heat.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment