Swiping my card I survey the bus. It’s nearly empty. Containing my excitement I take a seat near the engine. I drop my bag beside me and place my feet on a ledge in front. My hood is a pillow behind my head. A long day over its hard to stay awake, but trumpets sound in the heavens above.
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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