Où et Quand?

Je ne te chercherai encore,

Je ne te rechercherai toujours,

Tu pour qui les photos sont brulés 

Tu pour qui j'alunirais, amaigrirais, et

me dimunirais. 

À cause de toi, je ne peut même parler 

ni avec confiance, ni avec langue de ma naissance.

À cause de toi, if faut que je me toujours cache

aux tes yeux qui me font trembler, aux tes emotions 

qui sont toujours nues. 

Je ne dois marcher ce chemin, malgré que c'est doux,

je ne veut pas me tuer ou de toi m'embéguiner comme 

des amours qui sont complètement fous. 

Je ne dois passer mes jours avec un coeur qui est 

lourd, qui est plein de desespoir, me faisant une femme

sans aucune ardeur, volant de moi mon valeur,  et l'abilité 

d'être un prosateur. 

Je ne te cherche encore.

Translation: It has come to my attention that this post is pretentious (I mean, I am a French major). Bear in mind that I wrote it when I was supposed to be writing a French paper. I have difficulty switching from French to English and since I was already thinking in French and listening to French, it seemed like the natural thing to do. In turn, it actually turned out to be the perfect language for the poem and it's connotation, so I'm sad not everyone can enjoy it the way it's meant to be; therefore, for those who don't read French, here is the very literal translation. (For the curious, the title "Où et Quand" refers to the movie Amélie. Look it up.)

I will not search for you again,

I will not always seek you out,

You for whom the photos are burned

You for whom I would land on the moon, make thin, and

deprive myself.

Because of you, I can not even speak

with confidence, nor with the language of my birth.

Because of you, it is necessary for me to always hide myself

from your eyes which make me tremble, from your emotions

which are always naked.

I must not walk this path, despite how sweet it is,

I do not want to kill myself or infatuate myself with you like

those loves who are completely crazy.

I must not spend my days with a heart which is 

heavy, which is full of despair, making me a woman

without any ardor, stealing from me my worth/strength, and the ability

to be a writer of prose.

I do not still search for you.