The Truth (revisited)


It’s
an odd thing, the
truth,
well
not
odd, maybe…
like
clothes are
odd,
if clothes
were
made of the
truth.
Sounds
strange to
my
ears
saying
truth is
odd.
It’s
not…it
never
is but thinking about it
is
kind of…like
wearing
it;
truth
doesn’t stretch…it’s
the
same size
for
you
for
me
so…it’s
hard
arms
tangle
neck
hole
hurts,

elbows
through
arm
holes scrape
stomach
is
tight…

My truth is the
same
as your truth…but
when it’s
worn by,
layered on, enveloped around, draped over, covering up,
encasing totally, fitted completely, surrounding…
us;
it is
who
we are.

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