In the sun I sit on the steps of an evangelical church. I smoke a cig. I read about zen buddhism. Around me the streets are beginning to bustle. Hordes of people making the most of their free time, the weekend. I’m not any different. We have something in common. It’s bondage.
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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