because i am
so much
though i, like her
few even talk to me
about it.
my parents make good money.
and i do my very best,
i really do.
but their, in front of me.
when she leans up/up and over
too speak in to her mirror
our eyes meet.
i grow week.
and i know she knows
i don't,
even know about the undergrowth.
and she smiles
lovely miles
at me.
then stands up
and does this little dance
just like a bee..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem