I am a liar or
A storyteller,
Which I prefer.
You can’t find me
In my photo albums;
A different girl
Every year.
I paint many masks
And spin many tales
Just so I can
Finally
Hear anything
I can call my own.
Here is my heart
In essence,
Which isn’t necessarily
In truth,
Though I try
To fit the image.
So many
Separate
Profiles;
All less than a
Fraction
Of a whole.
But who’s to judge
Reality,
Or truth?
Call it equation;
Boil it down to
Numbers, but
Everything
Has variables.

So I’m a liar -
So is the sun,
Shining cold and
Distant
In winter;
So are you,
Pretending.
Calculate the image
Lest you leave
A jumble of
Meaningless
Numbers, just so
Many digits and
Too few faces.