I mention it’s nice to see someone happy. Yeah…I’m normally not…who likes to work? She’s preaching to the choir. Something wrong with those ones…fucked in the head. She says hell yeah and I ruin the moment sliding my money across the counter, reminding us both, this is only capitalism.
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