When people ask me how it is going
I'll tell them I am fine

When people ask me what I want to do
I'll tell them I am fine

When people ask me where to go
I'll tell them I am fine

When people ask me what to do
I'll tell them I am fine

When people ask me what I like
I'll tell them I am fine

When people ask witch way to go
I'll tell them I am fine

I'll tell them I am fine
I'll tell them I am a lie
I'll tell them life is a lie
I'll tell them there is nothing to live for
I'll tell them it's all a lie

I'll tell them I am fine
I'll tell them I am lie
I'll tell them I am fine
I'll tell them I am lie
I'll tell them I am fine
I'll tell them I am lie
I'll tell them I am a fine lie
I am very ****
So don't try to convince me that
I am a very beautiful person
Because at the end of the day
I hate myself in every single way
And I'm not going to lie to myself by saying
There is beauty inside of me that matters
So rest assured I will remind myself
That I am a worthless, terrible person
And nothing you say will make me believe
I still deserve love
Because no matter what
I am not good enough to be loved
And I am in no position to believe that
Beauty does exist within me
Because whenever I look in the mirror I always think
Am I as **** as people say?

(Now read bottom up)
I just want you to know that I did not write this poem, I found it on Pinterest and fell in love. I wanted to share it with you all. This poem is written by Abdullah Shoaib.
Sometimes lies are the only truth, illuminated by the belief it is given.
{a mind game during intermission}

there were reveries recorded while telling the tale.
the teller was taken up, some say,
at the throne, say others,
in the spirit, others still

thy will be don on earth as in heaven was bound to be done

once, upon a time, very similar to this one. We had clocks aware of all we counted or qua n-tuple times pi is as fine a guess
as ever has been made, since the first fortythree.

We have so many things in common. Tuples and Hitchens survival for one,
and I have my integrity integrated despite the ergotic episode of daring/

[
A property of continuous dynamical systems that is the opposite of ergodicity is complete integrability.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ergodic_theory> ]
]

What? You missed that? I dared you.

do you feel odd? irrational? pyramidic-pi-eyed?

Wait, we need a date,
then, we syn crow own, oh *** the hieroglyphs include all types of idle words

we need order, C# or, no, no, no
all things are possible
this is the quarkish

conclusion.

Play again, kid?
Just playin'.
Cryptic 4d
You promise
you'll never leave

You promise
you'll wait

You promise
you'll stay
and marry me
someday

I thought those
promises
was for me

Now, I saw you
grant it to someone
Promises indeed mean to be broken
Not everything
Seems as it appears
To be
When every lie
Unfolds the truth.
I feel as though I
May be the biggest fake I know.
Perfecting the art
Of acting like I know what I'm doing when
Self doubt clouds my
Thoughts until I fall apart. But
Every time I think of how lucky I am I
Realize I worked hard for this.
Imposter "syndrome" "experience", etc. I can't see what they saw in me when I accepted my dream job. I only hope I don't ***** this up.
Katie Miller Jan 8
Two-tone lips
Chewed raw from a tempted anxiety
And a stitched together string
Told to keep quiet unless you have a lie to tell
So you can protect the connected streams of expectations
A lie balanced on one lip, the truth falling from the other
Catch it quick before it spills

Burnt bruised skin
Strangled by the soft palms of mercy
With a choked lie so we will protect their name
A yellow-blue watercolor of forgotten truths
Blended together with the concealed coverings
A punch again and one more hit
Block the kick to stop the pain

Obsidian knife blades
Cut deeper than the steel that you use
Black explosive rock glazed with the promise of blood
A line cut into it that separates truth from lie
A simple consequence of being the one who was there
A chance game token of who can get the better death
A knife that only reveals the bruised lips of the liar that we are
I don't entirely know what this poem means, but it definitely means something, I'm still formulating a complete, coherent meaning for it. The two-toned lips was an idea that just kinda came to my mind, and the obsidian and blood combination came from a recent trip to New Mexico, when our tour guide was having us imagine the obsidian arrows covered in blood, and I found that artistic and beautiful, so I used my own version of it in my poem.
EK Jan 7
I cough when I lie,
it's like the idea of deceiving you is sickening.

I don't make eye contact when I exaggerate,
I don't want to be able to tell if you see through the story I'm spinning.

I want so desperately for you to see me and love me for who I am, not for whatever picture of myself I paint.

I feel like I see you, the real you, when you focus on something or someone else and forget to compose yourself for me.

I wish I could just say "I see you and you're beautiful".

I crave authenticity, yet I keep authoring falsity.
I'm never really able to confess my feelings, it's a problem, lol.
Next page