You ought to be more like her
you told me
think about your granny
so the ghosts of the past
would be appeased
but they have grown a little fleshy
now they roam about unfettered
its like watching
or reliving
your past aches.
Living was for the weary
you told me
and breathing a gift
that cannot be given
you got me wondering..
what would the stars think?
Life was a river full of floating rejects
I wasn't to be named one
if they didn't love me hard enough
i was to love myself
then love myself again on behalf of everyone who was never bold enough too
roses were to be purple
when I had seen enough red.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem