I sit at the kitchen table eating oatmeal in my work clothes. Soon I have to catch a bus. But a shiver in my spine makes me text the boss. Quickly he responds. No…not until tomorrow. I push my bowl away. I strip. All the weight is gone.
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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