Every poet has a truth.
The truth is, poets can lie.
Poets can lie and hide the truth.
Poets can also disguise a beautiful truth as a sinful lie.

We poets don't back down easily.
We poets want to win every conversation.
We very much prefer to raise our pens
To record our artful manipulation.

We write about our sorrows
Our nearest and dearest know nothing of.
We write about our joys
Our greatest challengers want to dispose of.

Do we know someone who knows us better?
Do we know someone who knows who we are?
Do we know if we are anything else but poets?

We are all the same.
You are human, as am I.
You see it straight, I see it in rhymes.
You like it easy, I like it fly.
You hear it quick, I take my time.
Do you know why?

'Coz every poet has suffered a lie.
A lie that ignites a fire for truth.
Poets can write the truth whilst hiding the lies.
How can we not, when -
We poets can disguise a painful lie as a beautiful truth?

As a kid I would see
a bird and wonder if
I could fly too.
I wanted to fly to
fill my heart with
excitement,
spreading wings
seeing beautiful things
Now I feel change of role
the small plant has grown old
even as I sit inside a plane
it does not feel like flying
outside the window pane.
Now after all these years
a bird flying high means
to run away from my fears
to drop off this heavy drape
and fly just to escape.