After work I stop along the canal to smoke a cig in the sun. Sitting there I make up my mind. I won’t go home and nap. No, I’ll shower and dress and go to the park. I’ll find a bench. I’ll watch people and squirrels and the dogs who find joy in chasing them. Simple pleasures. I’ll take advantage.
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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