You can’t play me like that…I’ll fuck you up says the disgruntled client in front of me. Like a wrathful god, he slams his fist on the counter. It shakes from the force; products rattle. Though the clerk is calm, unfazed. This is his mettle. I wait my turn in line to buy a seltzer.
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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