Yes I'm noticed for my hair,
and it seems people only care,
thinking of their kindness as a good deed,
but in reality they don't know what I need,
for I'll still just return home,
to sit, play, and read all alone,
where I'll take time to think,
eyes pouring like a sink,
as they don't truly care
for the boy beneath the hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem