Sure I wake before the sun to work on my art. But it’s better than being stuck in some career counting down days until retirement like a man serving life. Did Dad see it like that? He was smart. I bet he did. I get out of bed with a spring in my step because I live by the day.
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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