They ask me to
write poetry
to pen it down
and make my soul free

They ask me,
to tear my soul
and put those fragments
back into a whole

Then they praise me
for my eloquent feeling
are they aware
of how I'm dealing?

They call my words intense
but under that pretense
I hide something deep
It's secrets that I keep

So, I play along
and just smile.
Letting the praises fall deaf
on my ears for a while.