I am old enough to know better
And should not follow the first bird song
Into the river of tears.
I don't care for birds, neither for their songs
Because I've learned to whistle for myself.
It was about time to get myself a bird
Put him in a cage, be a proud bird owner,
Do what other girls my age do.
I spread my wings onto my freedom
My flock flies with me, and no cage can stop us.
Metaphors are poetry's beauty
Never say what you feel,
And the world will remember you.
I wear my heart in my sleeve
And the birds keep nibbling on it.
SG, London, 7.14