By: Calle Hutch(pen name)
A personal journal that turned into a poem:
My decisions are calculations of what the best outcome will be,
Even writing this paper i'm not writing for me.
As if someone might read this, as if I might show them; a halfway here story that might be a poem.
I want to write freely,
But that cannot be me,
Because all I can hear is my cousin go hehe.
Of course she is right, I'm completely self-centered.
Im dull and unworthy of the love that they've gathered.
But what is a soul without love? It is nothing at all. I have to believe I'm a person without evidence to call.
What do I like? What things make me happy?
It's these egotistical questions that define me unworthy.
In fact it's this whole paper, I cannot escape my nature.
If my cousin does not see myself the way that I do,
What's the matter?
She's not s‘posed to.
It's too bad I'm uncertain,
Ive dug these grooves so deep on an answer that cannot be determined.
Now it's a loop, I'm afraid can't be fixed.
Mistakes have been made, but no more tricks.
I must find a way to feel what's really real,
Allow the shame to absolve and the fakeness to peel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem