I try to run from the real me,
but I am glued inside myself.
Who I espy in the mirror,
usually revolts me.
My evolution is atrophied:
Fear directs my life -
Controls me...
Aborts me.
When I draw my final breath,
the collective pool of tears amassed,
will have created the oasis
I always craved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't find a single word of this piece offensive in the least possible manner. As you know me, Jeff, you know I can easily be offended. The only thing I'm offended by here, is the fact that you've described in the most poetic way imaginable the things I've often felt when I couldn't come close to echoing the depth of this work. I say brava! and be damned the left.