Smashed computer monitors fill the dumpster, I heave my sack on top. In the sun I light a cigarette. I search old brick walls for new graffiti, but I’m disappointed. A tenant exits the building with his own offering of trash. I nod. He looks right through me. Screw you too.
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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