Lying and me—me and lying
I barely remember a time
when—
my mind didn’t failsafe into a lie
~
not much in recent years—but,
before my lies unravelled—and—caused more damage
than I could've thought—wanted
~
I remember believing in honesty—integrity
values I hold in the highest regard
but struggle with
every day
~
lying stings at first—you feel the pangs
in your stomach—
like acid reflux from that curry
or the terse words your teacher said that time
that has stayed with you—for what feels like an eternity
~
this is the point at which you make the declaration—the promise
to never lie again—be someone of integrity
~
that's how things should play out—
but—
as so often is the case with life
things don't play out the way we'd hope they would
~
sometimes, if you lie again quickly
to cover the first,
you can redirect the acid reflux—
the sting will pass,
but the feeling lingers—
the longer you hide, the harder to fight,
to own up, take responsibility
~
lying, excuses and me, me, excuses and lying
~
so many lies are said—made as excuses for the truth
we want to escape the hard realities,
want to hide them—bury them
often out of duty—of love (confused and poorly-thought-out, but understandable)
or simply because—
we don’t want the world—our close-knit, intimate world
to know who we really are, what we really do and why we really do it
~
if we even know
justified or not—reasonable or not—serious or not,
lies, even when they represent excuses
are not worth it
~
you feel bad the first few times you lie as an excuse—
in time you'll dull out that pain, that hurt—and—lying as excuses becomes easier
~
the lies we tell—
bastardised echoes of the truths we'd tell if we were brave—
brave or had any sense of common decency.
~
But common decency is defeated when safety is threatened
not fear of death—no,
just fear of being caught.
Our fight or flight, survivalist instincts kick in—
we lock into our lies, the stories we weave to protect our guilt-riddled selves
~
These aspects I know too well,
far too well
~
I—
wish I'd responded to the pangs
the hurt and pain—the first lies—I told forced me to feel
to prevent me from the lifelong battle—it feels like—I have with the urge to lie
even over the smallest things
if I'd fought harder—sooner
bloodied, broken by the bitter acid of truth—
the teacher was right:
"You’ll never learn"
but unburdened by the crushing weight
but relieved of the deafening tinnitus
of a memory—the lies—I carried too long.
*
Thanks for reading!
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!
Streams and Scratches in My Mind coming soon!
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Comments (19)
Two things: In my personal experience—and I think most people in my situation can relate—we all start out with this calibrated moral compass, but (whether out of survival, or selfishness, or maybe a bit of both), we begin to bend those morals until we’ve completely reshaped our definition of right and wrong. Also, getting caught in our lies, and then continuing to lie rather than have to admit not only to what we lied about, but to the fact that we lied about it. That’s where I found myself. Looking back on it, it’s utter insanity. Only an experienced liar can capture the truth about lying so perfectly… ironic.
Ouch, this one really hurt. We tell ourselves that the little white lies are OK, but if they lead to a habit of lying—are they really? Well done, and congrats on the Top Story!
The weight of this is unsettling, relatable and thought provoking!! It's no wonder you got TS with this poem Paul!!! Congrats!
This hits like a confession etched in acid; raw, unflinching, and painfully self-aware. You didn’t just write about lying, you laid bare the anatomy of it, the way it gnaws at memory and reshapes identity. The cadence feels like someone caught between repentance and resignation, which makes it all the more human. What I love most is that underneath the guilt, I can still hear the yearning for freedom, the hope that truth could still cleanse what lies have corroded. That hunger for honesty is what keeps this piece from despair; it’s what makes it powerful.
The king of poetry at it again in Top Story. Congratulations yet again Sir! 🎉🎊🎉♥️🤗 also I am sorry for the inconsistency in my interaction with you. I am failing at keeping up with everything but I saw this and made a run to it immediately 👏🏽
Auyyyy congrats ya kook
I've always felt like they buzz like gnats, like a swarm you couldn't clear, until it's the background noise of your life. Little-big lies, like, "I am the sort of person who is like this" because it is the face that I think it most palatable to the world. We forget what honesty even looks like, and when we find it, we are repulsed by it, because often, it's not "nice". It's messy and raw or uncomfortable. Little kids get told, "don't say that, it's rude". Nobody wants honesty anyway. Or is that another lie I tell myself, to cover up all the others? 😵
It becomes almost another addiction I reckon. Look I don’t claim to be perfect at all. You are very intelligent Paul. I have a friend who does this lying thing in a different way a fair bit, but like a few little porkys never hurt anyone but you are so able to break free of this I think- and it sounds like you have in recent years… so kudos. I hope I’ve not overstepped the mark here, just what I’m thinking.
Funny how recently I had a ringing in my ear. Now your poem shows up as justification for the ringing. If you're aware of the superstition, that a ringing ear means someone is talking about you. Boy did you lay our dirty dishes out, in this one. * 'Failsafe' was the perfect word to use for that line. It helped to attach the next three words like a chain. I am loving the push and pull going on here. How you evoke this through the use of '—' stopping and starting. 'Every day' lined Up on its own, became like a full stop. I am loving it for the weight it carried. The signs of lying, coming up to the surface. Oh you did a lovely job making us feel it. Iove how you played with the symptoms of an acid reflux. It takes on...sort of like a wing of protection. When you added the switch in order of phrasing. Just like you did at the beginning, it was a lovely surprise. I love that... In a sense... You overcame yourself there in the last few lines. Your awareness allowed you to know that sometimes you can't win, despite knowing better. Fantastic work Paul 🤗❤️
It is a very hard habit to break , especially the small ones just meant to smooth out all those everyday interactions we’re forced to have with…people.
I really felt the sting and heaviness in your words. Awesome work.
White lies, true lies are al the same? Do white lies taste any different, maybe from a milder curry 😄😄
Is this a Schrödinger's Cat situation about lying? What is truth vs lie vs the right thing vs….and so on. Interesting very interesting 🧐
What is the difference between the truth and the lies one tells? That is the question. Good job.
Well done, my liege. How do you suppose we can best parse the distinction between the creator of fiction and the liar? I'm fond of a maxim that is variously attributed to Albert Camus and Stephen King: "Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth." What do do you make of that?
You just love to say the truths we all pretend aren't there. I loved the honesty of this poem about dishonesty. You tactfully call out the reader to do better by admitting to your own mistakes and the lessons you'll "never learn." My favorite lines were: "the lies we tell— bastardised echoes of the truths we'd tell if we were brave— brave or had any sense of common decency." Very well done my deceitful friend. 😉
this hits-having to live a double life, or a type of lie to fit in. well done
Boy, how familiar the taste we have all swallowed. Great work
God Paul, this one hit hard.