It’s mundane dull tedious and repetitive. But this suits me fine. And as long as my co-workers leave me alone I can shut off. I can pass the hours in my head. Doing what I was born to do. Dreaming.
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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