You, the popular, so idolized.
Adored by many
Who shouldn't.
I can't help but notice
When you walk
You swagger.
You, the lucky, so crafty.
Thoughts existing
That shouldn't.
I can't help but wonder
If there is this -
What else is there?
You, the sneaking, so slipp'ry.
Hiding words.
Hiding thoughts.
Wounds open
Not aware
Of their bleeding.
Yet.
Why do you cut
When you know
One day those cuts
Will turn to scars?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem