A drunk croons on the street. He stops to say I look calm as fuck. No other way to live I respond. He laughs. You be hitting that reefer later I bet. Looking over my shoulder I tell him I already did, and to have a good night, because I had a great day. He resumes his singing where he left off.
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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