My brain and my tongue
have made a liar out of me.
“I’m okay,” I say
when I am not fine
when they ask.
They can’t tell.
I have learned
how to hide the lies.
Mama used to know
when I lied.
Now she can’t.
My sister used to tell on me
when I lied.
Now she doesn’t notice
the lies anymore.
Maybe it is an adult thing—
the lies, I mean.
I still feel the guilt
when I lie.
I still think about the lie
long after I have said it.
But I have learned
how to live with the lies now.
Yet something inside me
still whispers the truth.
I don’t want
to be a liar
anymore.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 5:13 AM UTC
My brain and my tongue
have made a liar out of me.
“I’m okay,” I say
when I am not fine
when they ask.
They can’t tell.
I have learned
how to hide the lies.
Mama used to know
when I lied.
Now she can’t.
My sister used to tell on me
when I lied.
Now she doesn’t notice
the lies anymore.
Maybe it is an adult thing—
the lies, I mean.
I still feel the guilt
when I lie.
I still think about the lie
long after I have said it.
But I have learned
how to live with the lies now.
Yet something inside me
still whispers the truth.
I don’t want
to be a liar
anymore.