I was too young
And I was too free
The problem wasn't that I enjoyed life
But that I showed that I enjoyed life
I was too pretty
And I was too self-confident
And cared too little for what other people thought of me
Never complimenting those that didn't deserve it
I was too slow to pick up a stone to throw
I was too reluctant to point a finger
I was too happy just to stare straight ahead
And focus completely on that
In the notes of a witchfinder general
Were descriptions of her blasphemous, oblivious rebellions
Among which was a refusal to acknowledge life was hard
Went out in the rain barefoot and without an umbrella
I had no right to be so self-contained
In a world not only of shared ugliness
But forced shared ugliness
I was too there
Not here where we are expected to limit one another
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem