I’ve lost jobs for speaking up. So when I don’t like what I hear I shut my mouth to keep my life easy. If Dad taught me anything it was do as little as possible. I didn’t know any better. But the older I get, the more I crave the excitement he didn’t. We’re not as similar as I thought.
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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