Words

Why is it that when people read poetry, 
they assume it is an autobiographical piece,
but when they read the same words in a storybook,
they can only see it as "fiction"?
What if my words are not true,
What if this isn't my story to tell?
If I wrote to you that I grew wings and 
I would fly to you,
Would you believe me?
Why is it that when people read poetry,
they assume the images exist in metaphor,
but when they read the same words in a storybook,
they assume the images exist in imagination?
...don't metaphors originate in imagination?
...isn't every poem a story?
I strongly dislike assumptions,
I dislike assumptions so strongly that I'm going to label them with the word "hate."
I think the word "hate" has implanted itself into my vocabulary and produced a plethera of unwelcomed offspring.
I wrote it down,
now is it true?
Words are peculiar, and full of lies.
My desire to become mute has never been so great as it is now.