I sit on a bench. Middle of the day and the heat is oppressive. Those of us brave enough move slow, wear light clothing. We often think we’re superior, but when I look across the park I see lowland gorillas, chimpanzees, orangutans. Wouldn’t you love to pick my nits?
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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