Am I pretty?
Am I ugly?
Am I someone everyone can like?
Am I cold?
Am I soft?
Am I anything at all?
Am I cool?
Am I good?
Am I anything to you?
Why worry about these things?
When wars do exist,
when hunger takes over,
and people die young.
Now do I really care how I look?
Or does the world make me to?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem