why do you act like hamlet,
all depressed and grieved,
for your own heart shuts me out,
and it's you who's deceived?

when did you think like othello,
murderous and violent,
irrational with decisions,
making me suffer with guilty silence?

how did you turn into macbeth,
from the silky words that grace your lips,
to the venomous fangs you bit back at me,
stinging like burning, sharp whips?

because i thought you were romeo,
with your adventurous soul and romantic antics.
now you've faded away,
with all your heroic tactics.

wherefore art thou, romeo?

don't call me juliet,
if i'm just another rosaline.

(I)
Her hour upon the stage,
She struts and frets.
Applause, admiration
Behind a mask to reflect.

In moments of true emotion,
Behind closed doors,
The mask would slip off
And shatter on the floor.

(II)
As years went by
And her heart withered,
She’d rather keep the mask on.
Revealing her true-self she feared

So secure behind the guise
So full of her-assumed-self.
She diffused into the mask
And the mask into herself.

(III)
Two eyes in the crowd
Shone apart from the rest.
They were there for the she,
She had always neglect.

While the crowds cheered on,
In those eyes at her affixed,
For a few flickering seconds
Her true self she glimpsed.

By the mirror she stood.
Hand clasped to her face,
In futile agony,
This mask to efface.

(IV)
“A mask may be adamant.
It may cover the face whole
But it can never drape
Those windows to the soul.”

“It will be difficult to search
The true-self long concealed.
Let these drape-less windows
The path reveal.”

“Look deep in mine eyes,” said he.