nobody taught me how to lie.
-sat down with me, and told me
in steps, showed me to walk up a staircase,
and hide in a glass walkway.

but people gave me their hands to hold,
a crying child,
and beat me when i took those hands.
my parents brought me home and told me to bat those hands away.

i learned how to lie, when people measured me
as if i was no more than a number on a wooden ruler,
lower than their own.
today, i know i’m not.

i learned to lie, when it all became too hard to bear,
all those late nights and broken pencils
tears shed everyday, yet you doubted me.
it was real.

my best lie was taught to me by a beautiful woman
-loving her was a secret, as was loving her and her and her,
because the very people who brought me home,
pulled me away from those rulers,
told me i was wonderful,
never doubted those tears as they were wiped away
would be the ones
who could rip my heart.

when life taught me that the truth
laying yourself out
-when it really matters,
rips you apart
you learn to lie.

when life gives you a secret worse than all else,
you see the consequences words can have
-you see that you are a sinner
you learn to lie,
and you wonder if you are a lie yourself.