At the dep there’s fifteen youths wearing leather jackets, hair glued in spikes and tattoos on their faces. In line to buy beer they growl at one another. The clerk looks terrified. I pluck a bottle of Perrier from a cooler and stand behind two girls with bright coloured hair, strong body odour. I remember my youth, young love, I smirk.
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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