Sometimes I doubt
If I truly loved them
As much as
I could have.

But I know I did—
These tears are proof.

I see some kids heading home from school,
bent over from the weight on their backpack.
In Palestine, children bear the politician’s schemes on their backs.
And bend further down,
grieving their parents’ lifeless forms.
Children, who used to be whole,
have their limbs torn off,
skin hanging from their faces and hands.

On my visit to the shop,
I see a kid throwing a tantrum over not getting sweets.
In Palestine, children hear cries of the wounded,
screaming for help.
While the world stands silent, aid delayed.
Red capes, a stone in their hands and a imaginary knife in their
teeth, they die as martyrs.

Politicians, no way you’d wield ruthless might,
If they were white children in your sight.

Something lurks in the forest of veils,
A place far from the war,
Which 'we' prevail.

A ripple of unrest,
Within the blankets of truth,
Hanging in the dripping branches.

What is a which hunt, without a lie,
One to convince us were doing good for 'us,'
A blatant killer,

Is among us.

I made something-look
but it's no good

You gave the critic first
before I got to them...
Was it a shield,
or would I reach the dreamers field

I heard your message
and it struck

sticks to me  
like sandpapered honey

The bitter truth

Or a perspective
from you

You could destroy me with everything you know.
You could tear down my careful reputation
with the secrets I willingly told you.
You could set fire to the comfortable life I’m living,
and have the flames engulf me too.

I don’t think it was healthy,
to  tell you that much.
I don’t think I should have told you
every one of my  d r e a m s
s e c r e t s ,
and  w i s h e s .  

But what was I supposed to do?
Every sign pointed that we had something real.
You helped me plant a garden in the shade
(it failed)
We ate popsicles on my front step
(they ruined my shirt)
You went swimming with me in the creek
(we hadn’t meant to get wet.)

You teased me when I slipped,
We both shared awkward glances at my sister’s questions,
I tried to get dirt out of your hair-
-you know, every time I see hair like yours I freeze.
It could be anyone, any length, anywhere, and I still stop dead.

I think you’ve ruined me without even whispering a word.

You never cared to much about my words, actually.
You didn’t care for my poems or my songs,
not more than politeness needed.
Politeness is one of your main qualities,
And like most polite people,
Honesty is not one of them.

I don’t know how I told you everything about me,
and you still didn’t know that the hard truth
would have hurt me less than the uncertainty
we’re now dangling in.
If you had just told me the truth-
I would have been okay with it.
Do you understand that?

I would have been more than okay with the truth.

Daddy I got three stars today, said the little one. I was the best in our class; it's true. But the father paid no attention. He didn't make a move. He just laid still as his daughter left the room.

Daddy I made new friends today, said the little one. And the other kids were very kind to me; it's true. But the father made no remark. He didn't even give a nod. He just laid still as his daughter leaves the room.

Daddy I won in a writing competition, said the little one. They even gave me a blue ribbon for my poem; it's true. But the father showed no smile. He didn't even look. He just laid still as his daughter was about to leave the room.

Little one, what are you doing here, asked the graveyard man. I was just talking to my father, sir; it's true. But your father is long gone, little one; he died a year ago. He's lying still inside his coffin — in this crypt, in this room.

I know, sir, said the little one. Pain creeping upon her face, so true. She said, to tell you frankly, I didn't get a three star either; I did so poorly on all my classes. I have no friends because I’m an orphan. My poem didn't win first prize. None of it were true.

But please see, please understand sir, begged the little one. With pain so bluntly piercing. The sorrow, scorchingly cold. Her sweet voice a contrast to the bitterness of her words, she goes:

When life is too much to bear, reality too blinding too face, and love too far away to follow, truth is what you make of it. Truth is what you wish it to be.

The truth is hard to tell
The truth is hard to understand
The truth can set you free
Lastly, Jesus Christ is the way, the truth and the life

I was the fisherman -
You were the fish.
My aim was you to hook.
To be caught by a richer man,
That was your wish.
At my bait you took no second look.