The wind pushes against me. I should take it as a sign to text the boss I’m not coming in. If he asks I’ll give a flimsy excuse, I’ve got five hundred, but I don’t, because the voice in my head whispers you can use the money…the rent is always due. I pump my legs. They got us by the balls.
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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