In hopes of being True

Honest. Honesty. Honestly, what does truth mean?

If yours is yours and mine is mine,

how can we understand what’s mine is yours

and yours is mine?

Your truth could be scary. Different. Ordinary.

Mine may be strange. Extreme. Unchanged.

Her truth could be singular. Expansive. Coarse.

His truth may be selfish. Minuscule. Forced.

Truth is not a box, perfectly contained and square.

Truth is not a circle. Round and round it goes. Never ceasing.

It leads somewhere.

Truth is an explosion. A bomb ready to detonate.

Millions of fragile shards fragmented across the globe.

We are pirates. Explorers. Astronauts on an alien landscape.

Shall we dig for the gold hidden inside our souls? Or are

we doomed to lead disparate lives paralyzed by fear?

Truth is the sum.

Mine. Yours. Ours.

Humanity’s curse.

Humanity’s cure.

Truth is the questions within, glimpses in our vulnerability.

Shall we be brave and unearth the answers? Or continue to

hide where no light tends to go?



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