Sometimes,
I wonder if the words we say,
are simply
the words we need to hear.

Like,
“The truth is…”

I want someone to say to me
“Well honestly…”.

So as a rule, I tell the truth–
hard & brutal though it may be.
(“The aftermath of truth’s brutality
makes it worth the pain of telling it”,
I say.
“It’s shameful and it’s cleansing: an
abrasiveness I’ve become addicted to.)

Except, I’m lying. It isn’t true.

Honestly? The biggest lie
I know to tell is the truth.

Because the truth is that
the truths I tell are hardly ever (completely) true–
more a cutting sword
(don’t come near me, I’ll hurt you),
more a righteous shield of protection.
(my desire for truth is more about
hiding me, than helping you)
more a lie
(now that may be true).

Sometimes,
I wonder if the words we say
are simply
the words we are afraid to hear.

Like,
“The truth is…”.