I stand there until a clock tells me it’s time to get going. I take my pay and tell everyone to have a good night. I feel better when I step up over the frame of my bike, sit down on the seat and pedal away. More space between me and here the better. I’m ‘free’ until I return.
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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