If i were to tell you why i cant breathe
I dont think you would believe me.
A little man with hard hands and soft skin
Waved at me as i held my girlfriend's hand.
She told me i was holding her too tight that
Her hand would be bruised
As soon as the little man walked away
We followed him,
Not so close that we could touch or so that he would acknowledge me
But in view and
I wonder if his mother has always loved him the way she says
she's beautiful, like him,
with eyes full of darkness from her youth
i wonder if she ever regretted naming him anxiety
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem