The Liar
5/26/09
I tell stories
Sometimes to others
And sometimes to myself.
Either sensationalizing
Or rationalizing experience.
Moments in time
Becoming broadly
True rather than
Strictly truth.
Pieces of reality
Broken with embellishments
In my favorite places.
Euphemisms and irony
Taking the place of
Dark moments
Which would make
The tale too real
For me to relate.
I am, after all, the
Author of my experience
Creating a fictitious haze
Around my spirit
So that I might survive
That which haunts me
At the times when
I must face myself.
In the silence of
My thoughts when
Bravado and pride
Melt away, like molten wax
Hardening the shell
Around me, I begin to
Internalize the Truth.
Soon, I will be able to
Tell it with honesty.
My stories take on
A voice that rings
With the authority
Of lessons learned
And I take on a
Mantle of wisdom
Rather than protecting
My fragile and fearful ego.
I may then laugh
At the stories and the foolish
Character I have
Played in my tales.
I tell stories
Sometimes to others
And sometimes to myself
So that I might have time
To come to terms
With the moments in my life
That I would prefer to rewrite.
In time, when
The truth emerges,
My story comes to life
On its own.
Harsh in it’s wisdom.
Fascinating in it’s
Starkness.
Fearless in the telling.
