I have always been second.
In the hearts of those who
Loved me, professed so,
Know so.
My heart like a mended vase,
Each slight and rejection
Loosening the glue there. Then,
Turning at the sound of the glass
Shattering, they loved me first
Even as my heart emptied, incapable
Of loving back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem