“When My

  1. Love

Swears that She is Made of Truth”

When my love swears that she is made of truth,

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutored youth,

Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.

Thus, vainly thinking that she thinks me young,

Although she knows my days are past the best,

Simply credit her false-speaking tongue;

On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.

But wherefore says she not she is unjust?

Oh, love best habit is in seeming trust 

And wherefore say not to have years told:

Therefore I lie with her and she with me,

And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

*a poem by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)


She tought of inexperience youth; seemingly lacking in colors

Even when it served her the best plain and simple

Her nature spoke of in denial even when the echo kept on gauging strongly 

She had no better escape but to embrace what was initially unintended

Let loose of the fact what she had no control over, days passed and it got her crashed


When she was 22 the future looked bright
But she’s nearly 30 now and she’s out every night

She reminisced back her prime time; it brought her to a long sigh

What should be different and what ifs

It felt like days went by to render her moving backwards 

She passed her first quarter of life; she felt nothing like she once experienced

The buds she gathered was gradually blown and she frown

She’s got an alright job but it’s not a career

Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears