They said I was too soft,
That my dreams were too aloft.
They don't know the monster that I hide,
That is clawing and fighting deep inside.
Do they want me to set it free?
Though in chaos my soul would be?
They say that I over think,
But I have come back from the brink.
I know the things I am capable of,
But I chose instead to search for love.
So now they may call me weak,
And tell me of a future bleak.
In them I see the same mistakes,
And I wonder if they know the stakes.
But maybe I am just bitter,
Tired of playing a babysitter.
Let them go and play their lives,
Just like children caught with knives.
But joy and happiness you know they will find,
while your sorrow and depression slowly bind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem