Blonde Hair, Blue Eyes
A spark, A flare.
The way she walks,
It draws eyes
The way she talks,
It soothes the ears.
The perfects girl,
With the perfect curls
One that we are pressured
Pressured to be,
Tha girl who weighs nothing,
that girl with all the right proportions.
I must know one thing.
Why her?
why should I want to be her.
Does she have that special allure
that enticing smile
And all the while,
I think
She is who I will never be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem