Keeping Faith

I’m keeping faith with the one I love, But what is faith, and what is love? For if my hand fits in a glove, That does not make it mine. I am remiss with love and gifts; My intentions may sometimes miss. So when I bestow upon you a kiss, That does not make it love. Sometimes I struggle with toil and trouble, Forgetting no one lives in a bubble. But I pick myself up from the rubble— Which may not be my wish. I like poetry; I have fake green eyes; I’ve made myself over in a kind of disguise. I know no one can see through my lies… Which does not make me proud.