Many have experienced having a pimple or two.
That seems to flaw an appearance unnnecessarily.
No matter what one chooses to do.
To be told to leave it initially alone.
Condoning what it is to heal on its own.
But an imperfection we detect,
We wish in haste to eliminate and correct.
Squeezing what appears with a minor pain,
That becomes clear in a retrospective...
That comes to many with facts that are gained.
To rid ourselves of whatever it is,
With a satisfaction heard that 'pops'.
Leaving a blemish or a mark that shocks.
And the impatiert one wishing...
To have left alone what should not have started.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem