ALL MY FRIENDS KNOW I’M BROKEN, WE FOLLOW EACH OTHER ON SPOTIFY.
Some nights I want a public death. I want to have a funeral under a fragile moon with lavender & people who care about me but have names I don’t care enough to ever remember. I want my therapist to listen to my midnight playlists with me so she knows who she’s up against. I would die for many people because I love untransactionally. I honestly prefer soft economies where we trade biggest intimacies. My secret is that I would wear my bones on my sleeves if I didn’t get disapproving looks on the streets. I’m not perfect but I would live naked if I could. Strangers could call me crybaby & I’d thank them for the kindness. I’m grateful for the internet because no one else understands me. I tell all of this over the phone to Madison, who doesn’t listen to Mitski, & that’s the difference between us; I’m no longer ashamed of my desire. |
My name is Sam and I write poems. |