I flick my butt in the gutter. I walk through an overgrown field on my way to the metro. I run to catch a train and the door shuts in my face, third one today. So I laugh at my fortune. I turn my earbuds up all the way. Another one’ll be by any minute, who cares? Not I.
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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