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Oct 2013
—all im saying is
dont you ever get sick
of the salt in the air and
the mist that contains you
the winds that know your name
the boys with crooked teeth
who turn to men with crooked fists
knuckles like mountain ranges
everything pointed,
like a misplaced patient
confined to the morgue
under sheets of skin
and hair and fingerprints
saying “look at me, girl”
with their eyes dark
chests swelled
"look at me when i talk to you"?
ns ezra
Written by
ns ezra  scotland
   Miranda Wang
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