This is the year I make it. A vow I’ve been reciting since I was a kid. First day of school and there I was swearing this would be the year I stopped being a loser, girls would like me, and they’d all forget that time I pissed my pants. I’ve always been delusional
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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