May 3, 20211 min read

Why Would I Lie?

Why would I lie, when I have the truest story I ever witnessed.

A story that I must tell with enough pressure to suppress vanity’s slightest measure.

If I asked why I'd say that I am slanted and jaded like the edgy face of a rocky mountain bluff.

Or soured by dire circumstances that nurtured this binding reality of inferiority that tells me that ugly awaits me in society's mirror.

I harvest my truth because, when I am not growing I am dying inside.

Feeling restricted to the confines of stagnant existence, as if constriction is choking the life out of me.

Currently, I find myself holding to the hope of living again without forgetting to honor the horrific tragedy I survived.

Similar to begin honestly without killing my story.

Uncertainty hangs about as if the unknown is my sole companion.

I fail to recognize the apparent because incoherent moments dulled my sense of reason.

Wherein seeing doesn’t mean believing, and believing does not equate to achieving, and rhyme seldom has reason.

I am prejudged and preliminarily subjected to mistrust resulting in a preliminary dismissal of human consideration.

Fair has not been there for me.

There are many many liars, frauds, and hypocrites who'd kill in order to deny me the truth!