Tu parles français? I respond un peu. Her dress is short and her legs are addict skinny, but she’s pretty and could be stomping down a runway instead of standing on a corner. She bends at the waist and shakes her ass in my face. Our eyes meet, and I say non merci ma chérie.
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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