Peaceful morning until the woman who’s been living in the stairwell starts yelling. The walls and the echo distort her voice. I can’t make out a word. It doesn’t sound good, like she woke up on the wrong side of the cardboard. A dog starts barking. So does its owner. It’s hard to ignore, I’m doing alright.
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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