Today I called a depression hotline
Because I was awake before the sun and
Nobody else was.
A woman on the other end answered.
Just before I opened my mouth
I thought about if anyone ever thought to
Ask them if they were alright.
So I did.
Over the phone I could almost hear her smile as she said
“I’m doing just fine.”

I’ve been conditioned to hold my breath
When I walk by cemeteries or
When ambulances pass by.
Sometimes it is not always beauty that robs your lungs.

In the 5th grade I accidentally broke a boy’s finger.
I feel guilty about it still.

I’ve been single for almost a decade.
When I was telling my friend about
Another botched attempt at getting close with a girl she said
“You’re too soft for a man. You’re too nice.
Girls want to hug boys like you, not kiss them.”

I can’t help that my arms tremble when I hold someone,
I don’t want to break something so precious.
I can’t help that I cry more out of love than I do sadness.

I am not a shell, I am not steel.
My skin is dark but it is not rough.
My body writes checks out to any homeless heart.
My lips bruise trying to talk people into sleep.
I am soft, I am tender.


A few of Kurt Cobain’s “likes” - poetry, vinyl, girls with weird eyes, passion, punk rock & more.

Eilfried Huth and Günther Domenig, Medium Total, 1969-1970

Im so fucking tired.

I don’t give a shit about grand gestures or flowers at my door, I just want your teeth across my neck and my lips pressed to the small of your back, I want your stupid fucking sense of humour making me laugh at 4am when I have to be up at 6.
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