Being myself
is one thing so nice
I hunger to lean on.
Walking in the fate
of my personality,
would do me all no harm.
I do not fall thrilled
by mere please of things,
which my smart eyes see.
What I thinkers with is firm,
as I do for real is the pure me.
When I see what men do,
I do not dare ignite my joy.
For me and in me is the real
me that ever lived in this astonishing
world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem