Stripping I leave my clothes on the bathroom floor. Photo sensitive emulsion stains the tiles from when I used to screenprint here. I was hopeful then, I thought I’d change my life, I’d come out on top. Instead I got drunk. I failed. Hanging my head I step into the shower, knowing I’m better off.
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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