I Write Because Hope Isn't An Excuse To Lie

I write because silence is where

the respectable lies go to die.

I write them back into daylight,

strip them of their manners,

and teach them their names.

I write until the anatomy of a lie

lies bare beneath the scalpel;

its polished heart,

its borrowed spine,

its tongue still trying to call

cowardice compassion.

I keep cutting

until there is nowhere left

for butter-knived euphemisms to hide.

Until the lie is nothing

but marrow,

tissue,

and the small, cold machinery

of what we were too polite to call true.

I write because silence

doesn't make a lie less dead.

It only keeps the corpse respectable.