I notice a new grouping of tents behind the tree line. A few months ago I saw Parcs Canada go in with a back hoe, tear down the small community that sprouted up there. I wonder if they were taught how to destroy the hope of the poor when they took the job, was it there in the description?
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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