Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Who’s the prettiest of us all?
I know it’s not me,
I know it’s not she,
So who shall it be?
I’m accident prone,
I have a sliced up wrist,
A broken bone,
I can’t walk straight,
I can’t go home.
They stare at me,
Call me retarded,
I can’t help but listen,
And cry and cry and cry,
But as I stare up,
I see the sky,
And finally realize,
The meaning of my life,
So mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Pick up these pieces,
Mop up the blood,
Hide the bodies,
I’m gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem