a history in lies

It’s born in the dusk of necessity, as most of these things are. There is so much you can hope for, so much innocent questions you can dodge, so much mornings you can swallow sour, like an old pill on your tongue.

It’s not, you reason, like they would actually prefer the truth anyway- truth so often so much bigger and messier than the occasion can ever call for, than the venue or timeframe can ever contain.

The first of those lies comes easier than you’d like- Are you ok? Yes. Did you enjoy winter break? Very much. There are various dimensions to words, you see, and some words fit within the hole of your mouth smoothly, some words roll off your tongue like the weightless whiffs of normalcy that they are. 

Time expands though, and with age, so do you. There are more relationships now, more conversations over sun-stained wooden table at coffee shops, more secrets stacked in the suitcases under your bed. The lies begin to grow in accommodation to your friendships.

“…Went to Chem class, then did kickboxing; just showered- how was your morning?” I couldn’t get out of bed today and it made me angry, and I cried for a long time, then I showered and got dressed, came here. Oh, started the Philosophy paper I’ve been telling you about. Half-way through now.

“…so I think I’m gonna call a rain check on the bar tonight; just been so tired today and wanna stay in and Netflix…that ok?” Not really, because I’m dying to be held right now, and I’m cold here in my room and I can’t do anything, I’m heavy with the hurt of Everything and I really just want to see your face, to drink some whiskey in a warm hued, muted place, surrounded by talking, sweating, laughing people. But, Sure, I say, practiced lilt of the voice, silent tears, hot and embarrassed, and invisible. You deserve some rest.

I don’t think I will ever be able to talk of my mother, or of the way I really feel about clothing, or sex, or love, or anything really. Questions come steady and consistent, and behind the weighted concern or causal curiosity, is a person who is cocooned safe in the threads of their own reality, and if there is one thing my history has taught me, is that I am bomb and beast and storm, I am heavy limbs and heated heart, I am too much, always too much.

If you wrap the pain in words, it becomes art, respectful, a corpse clothed in elegance. And that, is the biggest lie of all.


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