All I need is what it takes to not worry. To pay for the meagre life that I live. A roof over my head. Enough food in my stomach to keep my feet moving beneath me. And time to sit in the parks. To watch a world I’m barely a part of. Pretending that I am.
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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