A poem about poems.

You grip the plastic, and push the top to the paper.
You feel the humidity, the water vapor.
You sweat from feeling your emotions escape from your pen.
But when the sun goes down your ready to do it all again.

You smile, yet a tear lands on your desk.
These are the feelings, that separate you from the rest.
Some call you mad, some say Bipolar.
And your emotions change just from the solar.

It brightens your day, and gives your nights a meaning.
And you wake the next day, with your eyes gleaming.
Your heart's been replaced and ready for a beating
Simply by the feeling from our eyes meeting.

But you write all the time, about these emotions.
Causing us questions, confusion, and commotion.
Everyone's lost in their thoughts and yours too.
But you keep then guided because your thoughts are true...