As I work I stare out the emergency exit. People shuffle from the rooming house to the corner store, they return with beer. Hookers wave at lone men in cars hoping to make enough to get high. The sunlight is soft and it looks like a movie. But this is real life. We’re all doing what we got to do.
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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