I work like a beast all day. Twelve cases of hoodies in a blur. I leave defeated. Unable to lift my arms I’m scared I won’t have the energy to type when I get home. Stepping on my bike I pray the wind is with me. It never is.
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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