Listen to Andrew Kang read his poem:
We take it slow. Deeper,
I say, and deeper she cuts.
Her hands smooth over
my nape, my scalp, my ears.
Grandma says I look like a soldier.
Doesn’t know I plan on dyeing
it moss-green, like Frank Ocean, or a dissident
lavender.
Doesn’t know I plan on dyeing
it moss-green, like Frank Ocean, or a dissident
lavender.
I listen to the hair clipper murmur,
every strand falling deeper into
tenderness. It doesn’t matter
if she never understands me.
every strand falling deeper into
tenderness. It doesn’t matter
if she never understands me.
Read the other winners of the Seventh Annual High School Writing Contest. . .