I don’t let it get to me. Water off a duck’s back they say. In my head I see the mallards of my youth coming up from the bottom of the creek shimmering iridescent instantly dry but instead of water I repel his words. His intentions of filling me with enough guilt to work overtime. I laugh. There isn’t enough in the world.
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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