Once I knew a girl named Bell. 

I felt like she only had one job...

To make my life a living hell.

She told me I worthless,

That I would never be loved.

She said I had no propose.

She turned the world against me,

Trapping me in a raging wildfire,

Not being able to be free.

I was all alone,

No one wanted to be my friend.

It was like Bell already mad my tombstone.

I turned into a coward,

I did things and I'm not proud.

I cut my arms and gave up all my power.

I did that for a year,

I hated myself,

I wanted to disappear.

But one day something changed,

My blade cut a little too deep.

And I remember being drained.

The doctor said I was lucky to survive.

That day completely changed me.

I realized that i didn't want to die.

The truth never lies

Pressing my truths,

impressing your pages,

the cruel truth hides

in my marrow

pillowed in crimson.

My distorted words

trick the multitudes

as lies become truths

and truths become lies

falling heavily upon

shifting haze of clouds,

eclipsing my vision.

I deny the truth

but can’t avoid it

a sweet spray of verity

across alabaster limbs.

I hesitate at gate

of festering lies

but can’t pass

to the other side.

Truth soars

above Xeroxed deceit -

pure essence

of infallibility

without subterfuge.

Truth clothes nakedness

with integrity,

opening a slice

of sweet orange sky

for all to glimpse.

Discarding the peel,

savoring juice

of my soul,

I rip off

disguise of lies

for truth never dies.

Truth never lies, and a lie's never true.

Dissonant chords; are they red, white, or blue?

Spoken to mirror deceit in the soul,

Truth is a weapon; a lie is a goal.

Stabbed in the back but admitting the deal

Practices lying, both hands on the wheel.

Truth sets a standard of freedom's regime.

Lies are but gestures of trickery's scheme.

Sword and a shield bearing truth as the mark

Battle the demons that lie in the dark.

Sinister motives a fib holds within-

Bold to the face in the gist of a grin.

Truth marrow filling the bone of a word

Speaks what is honest and pure, not absurd.

Lies boast decay in the flesh of the mind,

Maiming and aiming at garments, unkind.

Difficult notions seem hard to disguise ...

Lies aren't truth, and the truth never lies.

#poetry #Philosophy 

"Do you think the stars talk to the moon?" her voice was soft and I rolled my eyes. I swear I had heard her utter the same sentence a dozen times before.

"Maybe." I leaned on my hands. Gravel dug into my palms but I tired to ignore it. Her huff of frustration barely gave me a distraction. I started to pick the little stones from underneath my nails.

"Don't you ever wonder about anything?" The scrap of her shoes echoed in my ears as she stood. I closed my eyes before I could see her stand over me with her hands on her hips.

"No darling. Do you ever wonder about different things?" My voice rumbled. I wondered if she could feel the vibrations of it in her chest.

"Is it truly so bad to want answers to the questions you have?" She landed beside me with all the grace of a disgruntled cat. I could feel her dress brush my calf and I looked at her. The pout on her face was spectacular to say the least.

"Darling. Your questions never change. Even when you have the answer." I paused. Tapped my fingers against my thigh and shook my head, "They say it's the mark of insanity." I smiled at her delighted laughter.

"You know I relish in insanity." She giggled. I could imagine if we had chosen a cliff top as our perch she would be swinging her legs and my heart would be in my throat. I was immensely glad we were sitting on the side of the road.

We fell into a silence that laid itself like a blanket on our shoulders. I shivered a little under it's embrace. Goosebumps covered my skin and I wondered how she never moved as she watched the stars.

"Can truth lie?" For all that she was quiet and soft spoken, her question sent shivers down my spine.

"What do you mean darling?" I tried to smile, shake off her serious expression. She turned her eyes to me and tilted her head. There was no expression on her face.

"If I tell a truth can I still lie?" She asked.

"Maybe if you one of the Fae." I replied. The corner of her lips quirked in a half smile.

"I'm always truthful." She fell onto her back and spread out so her fingers reached for the sky, "But. I'm never honest."

"Oh? What do you mean?" This was something new, or at least something she hadn't touched upon in a long time.

"Uttering the truth means you're never telling a lie. But who's to stop me from speaking in truths that only apply at certain times. Is it a lie, even though it is still something true?" She paused, let the silence stretch and snap back into place while she chewed her lip, "Who knows when that truth may be true. I could say the stars talk to the moon. Watch her in absolute reverence and follow her existence as if they'll die without her influence. But, they are their own light when the moon only reflects the sun." She shrugged a bare shoulder.  "But who knows. Maybe the moon was the one to give the light out and the stars stole her light to keep themselves afloat." She hummed under her breath with a giggle.

"You've an interesting perspective darling." I muttered as I drew her into my arms. She brushed the top of her head against my chin and spread her fingers against my collarbone.

"I don't see how. It is what it is." Her lips turned downwards and I kissed her forehead.

"It is my truth." I watched her bob her head.

"But it's also mine." she said before she smiled with a brilliance that never failed to steal my breath away.

"Shall we stay here until the sun decides to grace this desolate place with his overbearing shininess?" She asked and I laughed.

"Of course darling. Anything you want."

I don’t know how it all works, but I gotta tell you it’s the best puzzle ever; my mind is constantly moving around, discovering and discarding pieces all day, and night long. My thoughts and my environment seem to be completely intertwined, one flowing through and out of the other, designing beautiful potential pieces to put together.

I get lost on where my imagination starts and my reality begins. I hear voices which guide me, but aren’t really there, and aren’t really heard, but lead me nonetheless. I have numbers and colors assigned to those in my life, but I never assigned them. I can simply ponder on them for a second and their name or their meaning crosses my path. As if it wasn’t my thought to begin with. I wonder often, if I should write down a key; my grandmothers and mother and my sister all have their colors and/or numbers. My husband, children and even Jesus has a color.

My 4-year-old seems to speak to me, but the words and thoughts are not his, but my mothers', or my God’s, I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s the spiritual part of me, from another place and time guiding my human mind. My thoughts seem to be answered by my husband, children, the television, radio or anything in my communication path, so long as I carefully pay attention to my thoughts. As if the thoughts are given to me, as if something is ahead of my time, programming my ponderings, my environment, my everything. Or maybe I have been here before, maybe I have had this day, this moment, this life already come before me.

I will think something funny and my son, with perfect timing, will say, “That’s funny huh?” I was writing about my great-grandmother and her color red; her color has always been red and my son came home and immediately started dancing/singing while spelling “R E D, red, R E D spells red!” over and over. I will be worried about something and pondering a solution and my husband will say “It’s all gonna work out.” He'll be speaking to one of the kids about something else, but something in him responds to something in me. I will miss something about my mother and my sister will almost hear me and respond with something funny about the same topic.

It’s not that I’m any different than anyone else, I just think others don’t pay attention, or chose to talk about this reality. I swarm with spirits and fall into their realm when I write, they seem to be on this level between here and somewhere else. They seem to have a purpose with me, a purpose which I cannot fulfill, or even know. I can only keep quiet and learn as I go. I can only wake up each day to be the best parent, wife, sister, daughter and friend that I possibly can be. And of course I have to trust whatever

it is.

Truth will not cloak itself in compromise, 

won't don that mismatched garment's faulty fit 

nor succumb to the counterfeit of lies 

Truth wears his garment without wrinkle, without stain. 

 Truth won't tie on the shoes of a hypocrite 

nor cinch up the laces to hide their size, 

won't stuff up the toes for a better fit… 

but buckles his own boots, marching in step

 Truth won't wear the jesters hat and think it's cool, 

deceiving his brother with a smug little laugh, 

while  degrading himself to the state of a fool. 

But honoring others, he lifts his hat 

 Truth will strip off the garments of disguise 

that cloak the master of all lies. 

variations on reality and perception.

the hands of time, the hands that held you

when you fed at your mother's breast;

they are, in essence, the same. they have

both changed, both grown worn and faded,

more impressions now than skin and bone,

and silver paint, and fairy-tale stone.

yet what held true before is still true:

the hands of time sway onward, as

the hands that grew tired grew softer

as well. as the mist kissing the window

presses closer, breathes so deeply,

what is inside yearns to be outside —

the girl within seeks the girl without.

not an incongruence, then, merely

a story that was not told in full: things

occur not at once, but in folds,

overlapping and intertwining and

making fools of the tellers, the believers,

you and i, and who we sing to, these

wretched faces, tragedies in shearling coats,

slipping mist beneath their sleeves, and

caressing it away. you see, then,

don't you? there is no difference, no change.

time is only a space, a steadily expanding distance

between what was and what is, rendering

an impossibility for what was to be what is, and

an unerring inevitability that

what is will be what was. so you see:

this is a lie. these words are self-aware,

more so even than you —

you are not aware,

for if you were aware, you would know

not to read on; it is all lies from here and back.

the only truth is that the true truths

never lie. and yet, here i am, and

i have given you none.

It took me years decide

What I wanted to be in life

But something I developed in an hour

Was more meaningful than all of that

Combined

See I never believed in truth

Because truth is just a word we use

When part of what we say might be right

But most of time it isn't

So I began to say to myself

That there is only one truth

And this truth is painful

For it's the ones closest to us

Who lie to us the most

But that isn't the truth you see

That's only because they talk to us the most

See the truth is

It doesn't matter what you say

The only truth in this world

Is that everything else is a lie.

I trusted his eloquent words to me,

I should have known better you see.

For his words didn't mean a damn thing.

His actions spoke with truthful meaning.

Honesty is a very expensive gift,

He didn't realize how simple the truth is

That you don't have to remember so much shit.

All the extra bs that you have to make up in lies

And for what?

One simple tiny thing, surprise!

Oh what a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.

So now I can't trust him and his beautiful lying face,

His time with me is over, he lost the race.

For truthful to me you cannot be

Then there is no point,

So blessed be!

Truth never lies, it only forgets

It whispers your secrets, your gossip, and all your what-ifs

But truth can be faulty, that is quite easy to see

Because what is the truth to you, might not be the truth to me

It is a matter of perception, it is a matter of belief

That girl you think is ugly, might be the definition of someone else's unique

Truth forgets that it only holds the value of the person who speaks

Truth forgets that it is measured by the way someone thinks

Truth forgets that just because something is not a lie, does not mean that it is a fact

Truth forgets