The heat is unbearable. And having nothing to do makes it hard to ignore. I pretend to work as sweat runs down my back. It collects in the crack of my ass. I scratch. I guzzle cold water like I was found wandering the desert. But this is no ordeal, it’s life, and the landlord is always waiting.
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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