We
Poets
Are by far
The strangest ones
The ones who see rhyme
Where others just see pain
The ones who find darkness where
Others ignore it for the light
The ones who write unabashedly
And yet are still afraid to be themselves
The ones who are childlike in our intentions
But by far more mature in our thoughts and our means
We have to be this way, because being a poet
Is being strange and paradoxical, like life and death