Slapping feet on concrete get my attention. I watch a chubby kid run to the street with a hunk of cake in his hand and chocolate all over his face. The little brute, the glutton, he disgusts me! The world would be better if he didn’t stop at the curb. No such luck.
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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