Give me a reason to lie,
ask me if I can speak Chinese.
I’ll say yes, even memorize ‘hello’,
convince you I can, and say ‘let’s go to Japan’.

You’ll look at me in question,
I failed again.
You know I can’t lie.

Even when I was five,
running with the cookie,
claiming I found it
and am returning it to Pooh.
But it was never a cookie.

Dare me to lie,
tell me there’s no other escape,
lead me through the maze
of concrete barriers,
let me scream a falsehood to the world.

You’ll be disappointed in my incompetence.
Roll your eyes and walk back to the subway.
When my life demands it,
you know I still can’t lie.

Even when I was ten,
shuffling through the hallways,
long pants and longer sleeves.
Shivering in the cold,
clutching my books for warmth.
But it was never cold.

Beg me to tell you the truth,
tell you why I hide my dishonest blood.
Place me on a rock in front of a fountain,
while the crystals fall
let me spill the facts of my DNA.

You’ll sigh at my silence.
Stand in front of my downcast eyes.
When it will make all the difference,
you know I can’t speak.

But you reach your hand out to me,
in front of the glowing gems in the darkness,
help me up and embrace my empty syllables.

You love me in my speechless moments,
in my honest hours,
and my lieless life.
Even when it was then.