He cracks a beer. I spin the carousel and print a shirt before I joke, there’s plenty of paint thinner if you get thirsty. You think you’re better with your pot…we all need something to calm our thoughts, he bellows. I look in to his cloudy eyes. He and I are both the same. We crave a little quiet.
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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