I scroll the local news. This city suffers a malady. It’s filled with stabbings, beatings, senior citizens attacked in their home. I remember the village I come from. Nothing ever happened. It’s why I ran first chance I got. What does that say about me? I’d rather live in fear than be bored.
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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