Ten years is surely long enough,
Or it seems that way to me.
So please don't tell me "don't give up",
It's just not going to be.
I tried romance but never again,
It's surely not for me.
It always stunk like a rotting corpse,
Every time it came to be.
At eleven, seventeen, and twenty-one,
Twenty-five, forty-one, and forty-four,
When I thought she was a princess,
She was headed out the door.
So I'll stay alone, and bide my time,
Till in the end I get to leave.
Surely from an effing life like this,
I can earn a true reprieve.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem