Facing the fountain I smoke a cig, a joint, I read, I watch. I’m the only one of my kind. People my age don’t visit parks alone, we have families, friends, we’re surrounded with love. Or we do the honorable thing, we rot in dark apartments staying up to date on all that streams. What’s wrong with me, where did I go right?
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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