Life is a vending machine—a real one,
not the impeccable myth that perpetually coughs up correct change.
Put in hard work and you’re supposed to get results;
put in love and love comes back.
But what about the times it spits your hard work out the hatch?
What about the times you put in love and pain shoots back?
What about the times you’d really rather have kept the quarter?
In the end, maybe it’s not what you got back that actually matters,
but what you put in and why you bothered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
*sarcastically* thank you Mrs. Morden for such a great assignment. no, seriously I didn't post my because it was horrilbe, but I really like yours. I see the motif[again thank you Mrs.M...] of pain from love, cool big words, and perfect punctuation in your poems. Keep it up, RSF. -landrey