I HAVE VERY OLD HANDS

by Beyza Ozer

I’m big like those solar systems that sprout in your 
nose when you inhale & I die like those solar systems
you obliterate when you exhale. Don’t stop breathing
on my account. Tell me you’d enjoy dying on the moon
with me. Remind me to stop thinking once in a while
because you can tell I’m thinking about bad things when
my face takes that weird blank shape. Listen to me yell
clusters of bright dead gas into my invisible megaphone.
I don’t really care about podcasts or the beach because
I want to watch people’s expressions when they tell me a story
& feeling sand between my toes makes me feel dirty. I’m not
an easy person. I’m scared of what my insides look like &
I cut a hole in my thigh. There’s a letter in there for you.

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