Under a streetlight I smoke a cigarette. And as people pass so close I feel so far away. Nights like tonight are when I notice myself slipping. I’ve fallen over the edge of the boat and there’s nothing to grip on to, my arms flail, no one hears me scream above the sea. I smile at a woman; she looks away.
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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