All I want to do is give up. To sit in front of a fan with my shirt off. So I walk away from the sound of her voice. I close the bathroom door behind me. The shower is as cold as I can take it.
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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