Kat Beeton
I won’t make it, full mouth and snapping brows they say, my days won’t stretch with fists clenched, punches primed they beg to see my calmer side and when I’m in the eye, storm quiet I won’t make it, zipped tight they say, my mind is flat and crawling but I climb above the noise find a path that leads where I tell it to I ride the wind and forget their sound