When a poet gets tired, she never lets go,
When a poet feels stabbed, she never stabs herself,
When a poet is worked up, she never says a word,
Because,
When the heart of a poet gets too hot, that she can't stay,
She goes out to find a shoulder to lean on, but when she doesn't find one,
She let's the tears flow out drawing patterns on paper that only she can comprehend,
She knows how to conceal the spears that clutch in her soul,
And only those who read between her lines get to spot the pepper in the plate.