Tangled

I lied when the girl on the street

asked me if I had a minute to help the environment.

I said I was running late.

I wasn’t running late.

But it was cold out,

and I didn’t want to give her any money.

I lied when the man in the hall

asked how my day was going.

I said it was going fine.

It wasn’t going fine.

But I didn’t think he really wanted to hear about my day,

and I didn’t really want to tell him about it.

I lied when the girl in the waiting room

asked if I had a pen she could borrow.

I said I didn’t have one.

I had one.

But it was my favorite,

and people often don’t return pens they borrow, even favorites.

I lied when the boy at the store

asked if I needed help finding anything.

I said I was all set.

I wasn’t all set.

But that was how I always answered that question,

and I didn’t really mind wandering around.

I lied when the friendly girl

asked if I wanted to go out for something to eat.

I said I wasn’t hungry.

I was hungry.

But I was also tired,

and I just wanted to go back to my room and eat by myself.

I lied when I sat down today

and wrote a poem.

I said a lot of things happened to me.

They didn’t all happen to me.

But some of them did,

and I’d bet the rest have happened to other people.

I lied just yesterday

while discussing truthfulness.

I said I was an honest person.

I’m not. Nobody is.

But I don’t think that anyone noticed my lie,

and I laughed quietly to myself.

And I laughed quietly to myself.

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