Paradox

I do not write poetry because it makes me feel sad My body tremors in the absence of warmth As the pen makes contact with the paper under it,  As the verses set themselves, I am restricted, As if the emotions which come in waves, are bound By the words which they are captured by. 

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I do not write poetry because it makes me feel happy It is a thrill to feel my destitute fingers become warm By the friction conceived from pen against paper,  As the verses set themselves, I am at liberty As if the emotions which come in waves, are given a voice By the words which they are bonded to.