In front the café I stand by the recycling bins. This is what I’ve become, I’m nothing but a piece of trash I laugh, while searching for my cigarettes. People pass in small groups. Conversations are flashes. Dogs come toward me but leashes stop them short. The want in their eyes is my hope.
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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