My eyes are dead
But I'm alive
Yet what I am
Remains inside
I go to school everyday
With other kids I'm forced to play
They aren't anything like me
Their eyes don't work and they don't see
Their features are all smooth like clay
They all dress the exact same way
They were told to be alike
By the Faceless hoards who like to fight
They fight the ones who are like me
Whose eyes do work, whose eyes do see
We with our features made of mud
We who fight back with tears and blood
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem