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Tag as favoriteOn Beating A Dead Horse Of A Different Color 
By Josh G., Newton, MA
I lied
Through the skin of my teeth
With my tongue in my cheek
While my feet were asleep
And my nose ran.
Indeed,
Amidst getting my goat,
Out to lunch in his shoes,
I did stand off the wall
On my cold feet.
And if these are not clear as a prism,
You know why the French call this "idiotisme."
This piece has also been published in Teen Ink's monthly print magazine.
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