If i roam to freely,
what then will they say,
with there forked tongues
those pointing fingers
and downcast eyes,
what kinda girl are you anyway?
I think all laugh then full out and right in there face,
and maybe do a little hop
a little Irish jig,
goddess may judge me,
for she is me,
I am her
together we are the same bright and burning sun,
or even the moon that hangs on the tongue
so i spit these silvery lines,
for you to read,
and maybe find me,
as i really am,
in the shadows of your American dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem