When I kick the emergency exit open it hits a punk in the head. Before he has a chance to say oof I blast the klaxon in his face. He gathers his blankets but not fast enough. Next time you wake to a blade I threaten. He runs down the stairs. The world taught me to be mean.
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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