I take my coffee outside and light a cigarette. A familiar barista exits the café. Her lips move as a garbage truck rumbles by. What was that I ask? I hope you have a shitty day she smiles. I laugh. Why are you so hard on me? You deserve it. She walks away with a wink.
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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