His life doesn't fit the look of his skin,
As something along the way has seemed to be misplaced
Cynical, but not rotten to the core,
Which he considers as a minor victory,
Akin to a a late reprieve after a a very long day
Once he was just a bump in his mother's belly,
Now he stands as unqualified for anything more than taking up space,
Especially since it's his career that needs to spend some time on the couch
The nightmare was undercover only so briefly,
Just to create even more disappointment towards future events
Which many explain the lines on his forehead and the scowl on his match
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem