The bus is nearly empty. I sit at the back by the engine. I sweat. I undo my jacket. Staring out the window I give myself pep talks. I try to cheer up. To remember I’m in charge of how I react. And every kick from the universe comes with a reward. All I need is just a little patience.
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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