Because of a tiny imperfection,
I throw the paper away,
And realize,
We treat people the same way.
I retrieve it from disregard,
Crumbled and misshapen,
And try to make amends,
From the damage forsaken.
The character flaw,
If I cared at all,
To ever look and see,
Doesn't lie in a piece of paper,
But rather inside of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is amazingly good! Please continue to write, and may your star rise as rapidly as mine did (submitted my first poem on 3-13-2017, started off at Level 1 like you; now up to level 3 in four short days.) Let me help you along by giving you a 10 on this endeavour! Well done!