The face you see before you is really just a mask. The real me cry's all the time.She doesn't like the way she looks.
She doesn't like her eyes.
She doesn't like her lips.
She doesn't like her smile.
She doesn't like her ears.
She doesn't like her shape.
She doesn't like her size.
She just wants to change it all. She feels like running. To hide from
the rest of the world.She wishes that one day that she can throw the
mask away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem