When you mock me,
Do you feel like a bigger man?
Do you not know that your words
Sting like the back of a hand?
And though I am the target
Of all your terrible jokes,
I look at you and think,
'Who has lost the most? '
As I stand here scalded
And my skin grows red and sore,
The pain from your remarks
Cannot reach me at my core.
And so I do not hate you
For your being less than kind.
Rather I pity you
And the things you'll never find.
Where I see strength and glory,
You find weakness and blame.
Where I enjoy hope and happiness,
You sit in sadness and shame.
Where I find poetry and beauty,
You discover trepidation and fear.
All that I carry within,
Your cruel words can never steal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem