Colder than expected I regret not wearing another coat, but I’ll warm up in the metro, all those bodies tight. I walk quicker. Crossing the tracks a man eyes me up, wagering if I’m worth it. I don’t like the feeling. Society is crumbling. I have to start carrying a knife.
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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