Drowning in mid air.
While the grown men float to the top.
Choking on this cloud of smoke
while the grown men inhale deeply.
Lungs clasping.
I am young
I am weak
I can’t not take it
I will not make it
so they say.
I may be young...
I am not weak...
I will make it oh they'll see
the one victorious will be me.
There is a fire inflaming my lungs
When I speak
They will realize I am not weak! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'The one victorius will be me. There is a fire inflaming my lungs When I speak They will realize I am not weak! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ' Cheers,10++ for this positive poem.