No one here hurts more than you
your words cut clear to convey it through.
There are no marks I'll ever see,
but showing plain is misery.
There are no rules to play this game
and yet our words create our shame.
Go off and measure the worth of these
in lines and rhymes, do what you please...
Then tell me what grade would you give,
get past yourself and how you've lived.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is a very good poem! ! ! great job