Stripped of my jeans and t-shirt I lie back on a bed that’s only a mattress as I stare at the ceiling letting my skin catch a chill. No matter what the hands on the clock have to say it’s the right time to give up. Sunlight makes patterns on the wall as I fall asleep.
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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