I stop on a meridian I remember because of a kiss. A middle-aged man hobbles up from the subway. He asks for a smoke, I say I don’t have any. He sits down and starts yabbering. I give him the end of my joint. He puffs out his cheeks and says good shit. I wish him an easy night. I walk slow feeling lost.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment