Analysis of A poem is but a piece of your soul

I do not cry.
I do not whine.
I do not fight with my mind.
I do not scream.
Nor do I shout.

I have a different way of letting my emotions out.

I write.
I write poems.
poems that take turns.
Turns so dark people will forget from where they start.

I do not cry.
But when I write I sob.

I do not whine
But when I write I dream.
I dream of a world that could have
been.

When I write, I fight, I fight with the thought that should be expressed.

I do not scream, I speak. I speak my poems, proud and strong, I do not scream my poems because that would be wrong.

I write a poem like it's my child.
I nurture my poems the way I wish I was nurtured.

I feed my poems not food, but emotions.
Emotions, so strong I would crumble with no outlet.

A poem is but a piece of your soul.
I have many pieces, some I share with the world and some I hide.

My poems are my work. They tell a story, some so sad they would make you cry, some so happy they sound like a lie.

My poems are my story they tell the past but my poems do not define me because the further is all that lasts