Writer's Of Misery Poem by Sumaya Aijaz

Yes, I want to write
But then,
They will call poets author's of misery.
With a deep breath, I swallow
All that hollow left fallow.
But then,
Where do I place it?
Thousand stories wrapped and knit,
In the cupboard where hands don't reach
Everything is then perfect to preach.
Don't get it, why people talk?
With misery a poet they stalk
Just because they jot the lines bent.
A reason why emotions aren't vent...
Anyways! What changes?
Life is beautiful but still a lie
Can make at times take a sigh

It smiles while it steals,
It promises even as it breaks.