When I wake it’s after noon. I’m sweating through my jeans. I sit in bed unable to rouse myself. This heat, this apartment, it’s toxic, it’s killing my will. The voice in my head screams get out get out get out. I frantically search for my things.
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