On the outside,
you are made of paper
and I am a cut-out
decorated with yarn and ruffled lace.
You are weak and lovely to burn
and I am but a colourful image
unimportant
flimsy
pretty to look at.
When we are together,
we speak of cardboard
there are words upon your flimsy smoothness that describe the nothing that we see.
The nothing becomes like waves
we choke and fall to our folded knees
the grasp is
so tight
your paper is crumpled, my lace destroyed.
when we are together we are nonexistent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem