I was annoyed,
hurt,
upset,
and said things I now regret.
I told her,
separate hollidays we 'd spend.
When all I wanted
was to be with her.
I aked again,
she hesitates.
She doesn't trust me,
I don't trust her.
At sixteen,
perhaps,
mothers should vanish,
and walk away.
La Finita
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem