The embers die when I crush the butt with my boot. I swing the door open never knowing what to expect. Nothing but trash today. The old metal stairs creak as I climb them. In my apartment I slip off my boots. I make coffee. I take a mug to my desk. I tap the keys to find myself.
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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