I sit at my desk and smoke a joint. I drink a coffee, but I’m not preparing myself to write. I need a break from looking in the mirror. It isn’t always easy to inspect. It takes so much. I have to rest before I do it again. It won’t be long. Because my self forever calls
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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