Many things are pretty
Like night, day, spring, fall.
That girl over there?
Yes, she is exceptionally pretty.
Me?
Me you ask?
Do I think I'm pretty?
I think I have potential, but my nature holds me back.
Others?
Do others think I'm pretty?
Hmm... that's tough.
I would love to say my parents think I'm pretty
but I would be lieing to you, my friend.
They've never said a word
About my hidden beauty.
and then they wonder
they wonder.
Silly me.
For letting them hold me back.
I think I'm pretty. Isn't that all that matters?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Not.
I want their approval
I want their words
'You are beautiful'
Why do I wish for these words?
why must I want them? To steal them from my parents lips?
Why is there an overcoming angerness
A hunger for the words?
Because I'm starved.
I'm starves from those words.
I don't hear them enough.
I have never heard them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem