If I never ran away I’d be stunted. A dwarf compared to the person I am now. Which ain't much. Back home I had to live up to the expectations of all the people I’d known since I was young. And there was no chance I was going down the path they all took. Families and careers and safety over art and heartache and failure. I never had it in me to be anything other than a loafer.
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