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Your Lies Are My Truth
The First Lie
They cannot breathe;
not as she hovers above Their desk,
mascara dust around her eyes;
she has been crying,
sobbing, actually, but what’s the difference?
She stands with her legs crossed
As she stutters her asinine reasons,
her apologies for all the things she never did.
The Second Lie
She walks alone through the hallway
with a secret in her pocket;
she cannot wait to tell.
She will die if she does not tell.
Emotion is not a thing to mess around with.
But every classroom is dark;
the sane people have all gone home.
They’ve gone to a safer place,
a nicer place where she is not.
They’ve all returned to Their lives,
Their boyfriends, husbands, wives.
Their children whom They love,
because They are great parents
and terrible mentors.
The Third Lie
Don’t listen to her.
Just delete her emails; they are inappropriate.
Forward them to her counselors,
if need be, her parents.
Let’s isolate her and make her feel terrible.
Let’s make her feel guilty and ashamed.
She is just a coward hiding behind her computer.
Someone else will get her to talk,
And she’ll leave us the hell alone.
The Fourth Lie
Let’s trick her into talking.
We’ll promise confidentiality,
preach trust and truth.
We’ll smile like everything is ok,
like her pain is just a lie,
or an obstacle that she could overcome
if she would just toss her blade,
flush her condoms,
shatter her bottles.
The Fifth Lie
She sits silent;
what she had to say was said;
The Sixth Lie
She is the virginal nymphomaniac;
the coward, seeking attention.
Or is she seeking help?
Does it really matter?
Does it make a difference?
Does anyone give a ?
No, they most definitely do not.
What a surprise.
The Seventh Lie
The world is full of hate.
The world is full of denial.
The world is full of broken promises.
The world is full of hate and denial and broken promises and boundaries,
which They created,
because emotion was too much for
Them to handle,
And love is too scary.
The One Truth
And so she will sit alone
in a library because home is hell,
and write about how she wishes
the world were nicer,
that her history teacher was allowed to care,
that a boy might actually love her
and not just want to screw her.
And so she will dry her tears and take a deep breath.
She will coach herself to be strong,
and before she knows it
her mind will shut down.
She will detach herself from the world,
like she has many times before.
It is all she can do to cope.
To stay alive.
But she is dead as she steps out into the rainy afternoon.