Maybe the problem is that
I'm always stuck in the month;
those two weeks that held my heart
and choices captive in two different polarities.
Those two weeks,
years ago, that finished the savage
taking of my innocence;
my body at the cost of my life
my life at the cost of my heart
my heart at the cost of my hopes.
You weren't who I wanted to love
and yet I do -
someone who doesn't want me.
He didn't want me either -
just wanted to hurt someone,
hurt them to their core.
How complete the hurt,
a moment I still cower in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem