Taking off my clothes I lie on the couch. I send her a message saying I’m thinking of her, and always am. I whisper bisous baby before hanging up. Placing my phone face down in the thick blue carpet is an admission. Soon I’ll sleep. And I see no sense in moving to an empty bed.
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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