I may not be perfect,
But I have been sent,
From far away lands,
Fleeing from the bands.
People think they do see,
All of my misery,
In fact I know they don't,
For they seem provoked.
I cry in the night,
I try to do right,
But nobody knows,
When I say hello.
I try to forget,
What I always get,
I write from my heart,
Try not to get hurt.
This poem is for you,
Rising from the good view,
If my world was what I want,
I would be dead; but I can't.
By
Kayla Koshynsky