All the poets that you love listening to love lying to you
I'm not that egocentric to make you believe that I'm not one of them
I lie all the time, mostly up here
See, I've been doing this for a little while and I'm starting to understand things
Poetry is not about telling you the truth
It's about telling you the version of a story that gets the most reaction
The one that flows the best on the mic
The one that has all the lines that the audience is going to like
See, maybe the truth isn't supposed to rhyme so well
Maybe it doesn't have to rise to a crescendo
The truth never sounded like sound bites and name dropping
I promised myself I wouldn't write poems about poetry
But I woke up at three a.m. the other morning
And started spitting out all these lies that I couldn't roll off my tongue
And thought that maybe, at this hour, I could write a poem about honesty
Without having to choreograph the hook at the end
I woke up at three a.m.
And I'm having trouble remembering how to spell the word wouldn't
Four years ago, I featured at a youth slam in Jersey City
And tried to show some children how poetry is supposed to sound cool
Jessica sat in the front row, thinking I could teach her about spoken word
I lied to her, in metaphor, for a half hour
Only to hear the silence of a fifth grade explosion
Jessica explained it to her thirteen year old peers
How rough her father's beard stubble felt when her was drinking
And how a foster family is just a fresh coat of paint over stucco
When you've been running against the wall
She didn't actually say all this
Not like I can
But I could hear the inhalation of truth in between breaths of her poetry
Her name is not really Jessica
I don't remember what it is
But for a moment, I can make you care about her even if she's not real
Don't ask me
You wouldn't know the difference anyway
I don't write poems about honesty
I've written three poems this year to make me sound cute to girls
But not one about the medication that I'm taking
Because there are some things that I don't f**ing talk about
Why am I 33 years old and still trying to sound cute to girls?
A couple weeks ago, two friends asked me how my roommate is doing
I use the word roommate instead of referring to her as the girl I'm afraid of falling in love with
Because she is the most beautiful, overturned school bus that I have ever seen
And I slow down sometimes to watch the trauma
And because she knows me
Like how she knows that I look in the mirror too much
And I always eat the last peanut bu*ter cup
And I f** girls with my poems
And use the word roommate too loosely
And the poet in me should've told them she's doing just fine
But I hadn't memorized all the lines yet
My best friend is not doing fine and I can't fix it
The students in my cla** like me because I say the word bullsh** during my lectures
And let them out early
They don't see that fear has me losing focus on the bullet points
When I'm thinking about how many slit wrists I'll return home to tonight
My roommate's not suicidal
But it sounds s**ier than saying that she closes her eyes sometimes
When she's changing lanes
I lie because it keeps me driving to work
instead of holding her all night and crying
I need somebody to talk to
But poetry helps you meet people who want to f** poets
Who do you talk to when your best friend is biting off her cuticles
While other girls are sharpening their nails?
I need to go to bed now
I'm sorry I lied
I'll write the rest of this poem tomorrow
When I can differentiate what's none of your f**ing business
And write poems with hooks that rhyme
It doesn't matter what you believe
I'm tired of being the strong one all the time