hot tears spill down the young girl's cheek
never has she felt so much pain
so she cries; though she knows the wasted energy is in vain
her salty tears cleanse her recent cuts,
she still wakes up every morning; determined,
because each new scrape means 'not good enough, try again'
she strives for perfection
-but i feel it'll be the death of her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.