I do not have

anything to be proud of.

Do not think,

that I am strong,

because I am empty from within.

I am a lonely poet,

trying to crawl, walk, learn to fly.

I am still trying to discover myself

and find that I am

tired of hanging around.

Do not leave me

alone.

I am a stranger, I am a hermit.

I wish I could come out of this dark room,

learn a language that people can understand.

Maybe someone might care for this garden:

Withered flowers will be watered back to life.

Maybesomeone might help me get out of here.

Here I am, sitting thirsty, not being helped,

in this terrible night, in this lifeless desert.