At a battle of rock, paper, and scissors,
I lost my right to be my own,
So now whether happy or in abhors,
I’ve become a confused drone.
How does such a contest,
Determine who I belong to,
Surely this is just a jest,
Or I know not what in this world is true.
Am I no longer my own,
Is this what is shown,
Is this what is known,
I’m nothing but a drone.
That rock,
That crushed the scissors,
That paper,
That was neglected,
Those scissors,
Shattered and lost me my rights,
Oh well,
Guess that’s life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem