How to be a Liar
It begins with a pact; a promise
“Don’t tell daddy,” she says
But in all of your childishness
or perhaps rather a premature intelligence
you’re compelled to know why
before entering even a verbal contract such as this
He won’t understand
It’s plain and simple
and someone will be deeply hurt
And from that point on
there's this suppressed, unacknowledged terror
that lies beneath your diaphragm, as you agree to keep it
Not for daddy’s sake, no
but but surely for mommy’s.
Because you and mommy
might as well have slashed cuts
at your palms
and touched bloodlines
because, just in case you hadn’t shared the blood bond before,
You now are forever entangled.
And it doesn’t end with daddy, no
(though he is long gone by now)
Pact upon pact
Bond upon bond
they pile up until the stories flow steadily like rivers
and the people
are towns, no, worlds
just settled along the bank
which is merely a pile of your own untruths.
But when she and you are in this together
You are a duo of misunderstood bandits
stealing from one life to the next
Survival of the fittest, it’s called
And the secrecy is your role,
Your duty to the sacred bond
You’re old enough!
The machine can’t function without you
You’re clearly aware of that
And, like that, it’s almost a matter of life or death
And while you did not ask to start over, again,
She reminds you that you probably need it just as she does
And it touches you nonetheless
And it’s all right,
and when that’s the case
it almost masks completelythat you’re nothing but a liar.
Just a little author's note: This poem is freshly written, and now that I have it all on paper, I feel pretty confident in saying that this is one of those poems that I never want to read again.