A woman wanders into the street. A vehicle bears down. I shout but she’s dazed. My heart pounds. My mind races. By the time the SUV blasts the horn I’ve seen her smeared across the asphalt. A bloody stain that used to breathe. Brakes screech. She shakes head and carries on. So do I.
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