-

I conceive the idea that honesty is understanding the meaning of a word. The word never has one definition, instead varying from person to person. And while truth is definite and solid, it is relative. It is relative to the person who speaks it. I feel that the world would be so horrid, so torn if only truth was broadcasted. But I have this perception that we would all be better, we would all be brokenly whole in some twisted way. We would cease to see these hues of gray that were materialized by the liars. We would see it, this life, as a shattering, paining beauty. We would be one hue of black, because we couldn't all be friends, and hold hands on the playground, but we'd know where we stood, and we'd occupy our square of territory. But all at once, we'd be a crisp white, dashing out of where we were stationed because we would conceal nothing. Life would be an hour of recess on the playground and everywhere you stopped and stood you'd leave as soon as you came. We'd push through the lines drawn with chalk and we'd smear them. We'd be so sure of ourselves we'd become lost. We'd be fearlessly exhausted. We'd run then freeze, like greenlight-redlight. And before we knew it, the whistle would blow and we'd end in a totally new formation than we'd began in, a shuffled deck of cards, anticipating being dealt again.

-

Dressed in white,
I'm letting you win this fight.
Zero - one,
record the score, you won.
Now you have it all,
everything but me,
my hands may be calloused but they're empty.
But I'm better without it all,
with nothing left,
there's no way to fall.

A cut beneath the skin,
we walk around pretending we're not stretched thin.
Lay your weapon down,
it isn't a race of who can fire sooner,
who can make the first sound.

I see it when you look at me,
like an actor's cue,
it's my time to leave.
As I go,
the strings within me pulled tightly so,
I feel a pang,
a broken love for someone I'm afraid I don't know.

I bReAkdowN.

Clap my heels,
I have an ache to return home,
but I don't know how home feels.
The sky closes,
the amethyst clouds burst.
That bright sun be cursed,
because this rainbow isn't worth a cent,
because of all those words, not one was meant.

Put your eyes on me,
are bruises and wounds all you see?
There is pain beneath the surface.
Mind you, I come at a cost, though I'm no purchase.
Release me, I'm no slave,
I am not of your service.
Watch me limp,
oh, watch me stagger.
Just know that what I was, what I am,
deserved more than these punctures,
the conversation of my heart and your dagger.