Dressed in soiled clothes I feel better but not great. I tiptoe through the apartment. I find a pack of cigarettes in my shirt pocket. Outside it’s warm. Under large trees I stand in the pattern of leaf light. I’m dappled. I’m smiling. Screaming children terrorize the playground.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment