8th Street Station, 6 train, March 12, 2018
Four high school friends start beating on the subway door and reciting rhymes. I love it. I approach, ask them to write for Poems by New Yorkers. Wary of this weirdo approaching them on an empty car, they kindly oblige me, get off the train at my station. Together, at the ratty end of the platform, we record.

Most of these women they love me til I was broken
Find that happiness is like swimming across the ocean
I never thought I had to give her
Not showing her my emotion
I keep my heart on my sleeve and i’m usually too naïve
I’m sick of being alone
I swear this is a disease
My uncle been in the hospital
He could barely be
I’ll probly be end up right next to him for smoking all this cheese
I need some closure
Cause no one told me it’s over
They always here when I faded
But always gone when I’m sober
Some people try to expose me
Just to get some exposure
I got people with me now
That won’t be with me in October
But I guess it’s how it falls
Can’t settle for nothing
But I get into my all
Said you always love me
But I do not recall
But fuck it I’m a bore
Read a poem by Beth R.

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