Smoking cigarettes on the loading dock we decide to stay in, rent an old movie. Fireworks over downtown and I think the city is on fire. In my apartment we sit on the couch until Charlton Heston yells it’s made of people. I wait while she gets ready for bed, last night in town. I fall asleep knowing tomorrow I’ll do it alone.
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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