I dunno why

but I only write

when I feel down

The desire to burst out crying

Doesn't come first

as my fingers reach for the pen

Ink splattered before tears are spilled

I hide in the background

as people try to find themselves

within my poems

and then they compliment me some more

praising me about

How I immaculately put my thoughts in

words

because sometimes words fall short

and hearts break

They only read words

taking 'fire' for 'fire' 

and 'darkness for darkness' 

Never once recognizing the

Metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a 

butterfly

but just making hollow praises 

of the colorful dust on their wings

There is always more to stories

A poem, a song, a tune, a hum

is never made without a history

You may try to dig deeper

but it will always be your reflection

staring at you

stating you truths

that you are running away from...

-Eena.