Wounded deeply at times in life, just scraping by, not knowing
what will come into existence next.
Standing like a soldier, always at attention, looking for the
next thing to strike out, ready to tear me apart, sending me
into a tail spin.
Crawling away time and again, barely able to live life in the
tattered scraps that I have left.
Somehow able to pick myself up and continue again, no difference
in the outcome, as I wait in deference to the existence that
keeps me in this dreadful attire.
Wondering how it will feel to be another person of myself, one
that I can live life as, so thoughtfully and alone in a
better state of mind.
Nothing able to knock me down again in this life, how blessed
I would be if this were to happen beginning now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem