The day drags. I’m getting old and all my coworkers come from places where jobs are scarce, they work hard, they keep me on my toes. Because if the boss thinks I’m not worth my wage I’m out on my ass. No matter where we’re from we worry all the same. I push ink through a screen to eat tonight.
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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