I order a slice of pizza and eat it leaning on a counter. Two men watch Al-Jazeera in the corner with the sound so loud voices crackle. Neither of them say a word. I toss my plate in the trash, wait as three beautiful women with covered heads come through the door. Outside I see my breath
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.
Comments
Post a Comment