Tell me your darkest secrets of woe.
Tell me who you are and where you want to go.
Tell me of your follies and all of your strife.
But please, won’t you tell me under cover of night.
Tag Archives: truth
You Mean Something
Can I make you see what you mean to me?
Not a word or a scene or imagery.
It’s not easy to say, you see
Because I don’t want you to see through me.
It’s The Middle Of The Night
Alone again, and it’s the middle of the night.
He got in too deep and gave my heart a fright.
I’d like to look back and say it’ll be alright,
But I know the truth: it’s all over, that’s right.
.
I could smile and laugh like it’s all okay,
But I just lost my newest friend today.
Begging and pleading wouldn’t make him stay,
Instead I guess I’ll lie down to cry and pray.
.
Just like skanks lose their virtue, I’ve lost my touch.
I guess now I have nothing. I never really had much.
The look on his face was imaginable, such
Contempt and sorrow with a side of disgust.
.
I would never had told. Would’ve kept my mouth shut.
How was I to know he’d bark and protest like a mutt?
I made a conscious effort to lock all that up.
Tried to conceal it within to avoid this vile cup.
.
If you can’t keep em, forget em.
Along with him, him, and him.
Make it easy as possible to walk an’
Never let you heart get too broken.
.
Maybe my mom was dead wrong,
Instead of letting him write me a song
I should tell him the truth! Before long
They’d all see through me and…
.
No! I can’t let any of them go.
I’ll keep them all on their toes
Just as long as each of them knows
How I care for all of my hoes.
I Can’t Tell You You’re Beautiful
I can’t tell you you’re beautiful.
It wouldn’t be true.
I can’t say the word at all, especially to you.
Too bland, too plain, entirely overused
It’s meaning obliterated and purpose confused
Used on soulless souls without purpose or plight
Looked on and trampled for merely eyesight
Thrown around to serpents and sparkles
A word formerly used only for fantastic marvels.
No, I can’t tell you you’re beautiful;
It wouldn’t be true.
Life On The Good Side
Living for yesterday, tomorrow and nothing in between
Searching for answers in a hotel magazine
Making decisions and revisions of last Monday’s arguments
Wishing I had said my mind for once, hence
The changes in the mood and the desire not to be rude
In a way I look confused but that’s nothing old or new
Life on the far side of the middle of nothing and a half
They all try to break me to be their pet giraffe
As though my choices being made of songs old for the 80s
Makes a difference in how often I’ll go to Haiti
Music and choices teaching us to proclaim or restrain our voices
Looking and seeing and trying to make more sense of all the nonsense
Of everything going round in a vortex when there’s time for lawlessness
I’d rather see it in the flawless sense abolishments
and all the things made to sing for us and think for us
and taught to make our things for us. Living in the ink bank trust
Writing.
You think you know what you’re doing but you don’t.
You think you know what you’re saying but you won’t.
The end, is near.
Our time, is here.
No time, for fear.
Untruth
I’m Crying,
–but not cause you’re dying.
.
Our friendship’s waning,
–but it’s not cause we’re feigning.
.
You’re losing,
–and it’s all cause you’re schmoozing.
.
We’re bruising,
–but that’s because of the choosing.
My gums bleed when I brush my teeth…
My gums bleed when I brush my teeth…
My teeth ache when I have too many sweets…
I can’t eat sweets with low self-esteem…
My self esteem careens when I have no one beside me…
My smile dies when he’s not here crying…
I’m lost with no way of finding…
Thank you my dear for staying behind me…
Do you love me or the idea of me?
Do you love me or the idea of me? You long for the truth.
You yearn, even beg.
Yet, there is something within you that desires more…
You do not simply desire truth.
You do not simply desire love.
You desire an idea.
You desire a project.
You desire the projections of your own mind.
When a man looks for love or a woman for a provider,
What are they truly searching for?
Do they want the person they find?
Is the married man truly happy with what he receives?
Is he proud to find someone greater than he imagined?
No.
He is looking for exactly what he pictured.
If he truly loved the woman,
If he truly loved her,
Would he want her to be something?
Would he want her to change?
Would he want her to conform?
If she loved him in return,
Would she remain the same person?
Would she change entirely for his desire?
Would they change for each other,
To be what the other wanted?
At that point after changing so much,
Would they still be the same person?
Would they love each other the same?
Would they love each other more?
Would they be different?
Think on these two.
Do they bring you joy?
In the process of changing would their desires change also?
What is it that drives them?
What do they want?
What do they stand for?
What do you picture?
Is it all a mask?
Are they people at all
If they are conforming to the desires of other people?
Are they slaves of themselves?
Are they merely ideas?
Are they products of the master they serve?
Are they living?
No.
They are dead.
They are nothing,
For they have lost their soul.
But have they?
Have they really gained their soul?
Have they become more soul-ish than before?
Have they really just improved?
Are they more are they less?
Do they exist?
What is behind their masks?
Are they still themselves?
If not–
Are they more or less than before?
Are they ideas or heroes?
They are nothing either way, right?
Is their sacrifice worth it?
Is their sacrifice a sacrifice at all?
Do you love ideas or people?
Do he care more for her or for his cause?
It would seem one thing, but is it another?
Write Truth
“‘Yeah, I’m on my way down! Please give me one more minute. I have to finish my homework.’ Leah said as she looked nervously over at the clock. She barely finished it last time. This time she was certain she could not make the deadline. Why do I take math anyways?”
“Stop! Stop. Just stop,” Mr. Higgins interrupted. “Okay, can anyone tell me, what is the problem with this story?”
“How can we even know what’s wrong with the story before we’ve heard it?”
“Don’t ask such silly questions. This is a creative writing class, I expect you to answer my question without argument every time I ask one.”
Marion raises her hand.
“Yes, answer Miss Marion.”
“I think it’s a rather pleasant beginning to a story. It’s properly worded, it makes you a bit curious, and it’s relatable. I mean, who doesn’t hate math homework?”
The class laughes.
Mr. Higgins slaps the desk, frightening all the students.
“EXACTLY!!! You finally get what I’m saying!”
“I’m sorry Mr. Higgins, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Her story has a nice beginning. It’s exactly what you asked for.”
“Exactly!”
“Okay, since you students are so inadequate I will have to explain. It is everything you expect it to be. When you begin reading a story, you look for allusions to the past, foreshadowing for the future, a little anticipation, and it is to be tide together in a sweet little narrative. Everything else falls into place after that opening paragraph. It is supposed to say the entire story in one line. When a story is summarised by ‘Yeah, I’m on my way down,’ what do you think it is about? What do you think the plot is centered around? What is the meaning of that story? The beginning line is everything. The beginning line is what everyone remembers. The beginning line is what every thing hinges on and revolves around.Tell me, what when you think of a song, besides the chorus, what line pops into your head?”
“Okay, we understand. Can we talk about something else?
“You want me to talk about the end line?”
The class sighs.
“No Mr. Higgins.”
“Now, does anyone want to volunteer to read his or her story?”
“No one wants to read now! You’re just going to insult everyone else’s work!
“Is there anyone who can give me a good first line?”
“None of us have crazy-cool first lines! You told us yeseterday to use the least possible amount of words to write an exciting story about something boring. We weren’t supposed use any descrition or write any extensive descriptions. You told us to start our stories with a quote from the main character.”
“Well then why not make the main character Dickens and make the opening line a line from one of his books? Why not start the story at the end of a character’s speech? Why? Why are you writing? What do you want to want to say?”
“When you wright your beginning line, speak truth.”
The Girl of Play-Dough
Look at me. Look at me.
How do you feel about what you see?
When I look in the mirror all that I know
is that the figure before me is soft like play dough.
Look at me. Look at me.
How do you feel about what you see?
When I look in those eyes there is an ocean of things,
Yet all that’s made out of them is two shinning brown rings.
Look at me! Look at me!
How do you feel about what you see?!
You see me. I shine, but why is that so?
What do you make out of the girl of play dough?
Do You Love These Words? 