Paytan Douglas

Lie until you run out of breath.

Lie about your height, else you can’t ride that roller coaster.

Lie about your weight, else you won’t be attractive.

Lie about your age, else the cashier won’t sell you booze.

Lie to your parents, else they’ll be disappointed in you.

Lie about your education, else they won’t consider you for the position.

Lie about your experience, else you won’t be taken seriously.

Lie to your patients, else they might berate you for helping them when no one else would.

Lie to your employees, else they may realize your totalitarian iron fist when it comes to time off is, indeed, not justifiable.

Lie about how much money is in your bank account, else you’ll never get approved for a mortgage loan.

Lie about your salary, else you won’t be approved for renting a shitty 600sqft apartment, either.

Lie about watching that movie, else you’ll be out of touch with your peers.

Lie about liking that outfit, else you’ll be the asshole that hurts friends’ feelings.

Lie about where you live, else names like “white trash” and “country bumpkin” and “hood rat” will be stuck to your name tag forever more.

Lie about who you love, else you’ll ruin a friendship that never got off the ground.

Lie until you run out of breath—until your face turns blue and you choke on deceit when you could have been set free ages ago with just one, simple, notion: the truth.

Because no one likes the truth.

The truth hurts.