This piece is something I began back in the day, when I had a really bad habit of lying through my teeth about everything. I lied like I breathed.... it came more naturally than telling the truth. When I had moments of reflection, I would write self-pitying pieces that justified what I did. This particular piece was a moment in time of clarity. Here, it's expanded with adult language, a bigger picture, so to speak. I've never come up with an appropriate title for it, so if you have suggestions, feel free to share. If you read it, enjoy.
Trust is a thin china plate;
One must handle it carefully, so carefully, show the utmost concentration to every move…
Lest it be broken, invisible shards dancing dangerously along the ground.
Careful where you step, dearie.
Trust is getting the grade;
When it’s there, everything is perfect.
Yet you must strive…
Strive to hold onto it. Work harder than you did to earn it.
All it takes is a second of inattentiveness, and poof.
It’s gone.
Trust is the crest of a wave;
You’re riding high towards the sand
But you don’t see you can fall hard;
Down into the crushing black.
The rippling impact of the big picture.
Trust is a butterfly;
Delicate, beautiful, rare.
You try to capture it for its beauty, its purity…
Then work to hold onto it
Without ruining it.
Especially because it wants to fly away.
A lie is a stack of dominos;
Black and white sentinels of reality.
One wrong move and one teeters
Tumbling.
The whole stack comes crashing down.
A lie is like a tissue;
It’s used and used again.
It wears so thin…
You begin to see right through it.
A lie is the missing piece to the puzzle,
No matter how much work you put into it,
It’s the reason that nothing fits together quite right.
A lie is a festering sore;
It heals for a short time,
Longs to be healthy and whole once more.
Then, when least expected,
It breaks open once more.
Yet what is truth without lies?
The china wouldn’t be valuable
Without the risk of damage.
That perfect score wouldn’t be perfect
Without imperfection.
The crest would be another destination
Not worth a second glance.
There would be no sense of wholeness
Without pieces once missing.
One cannot exist
Unless the other is present, ever aware of
The choreographed dance
One takes around the other.
So is one dark
And one light?
Forever locked in a battle
That neither one has a true chance
Of being victorious?
Or are they both grays mingling, mixing, moving, amongst
The colors of life?
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