I feel like I messed up

like I misrepresented myself

to the point where you

don't know who I am.

Like I'm singing a song

on your off beats

with a syncopated rhythym you

haven't quite grasped yet.

I feel like you asked me

for the truth

and I responded with a lie

I hadn't realized was false yet.

Like I tried to say

what I feel, for real, inside,

but in the scrabble to 

please

and fulfill my obligations,

the words I thought

lost their potency.

Spilling out of my mouth like poetry,

but instead of daggers

and shards of glass,

I gave you flowers and sunshine,

a rainbow of good feeling

I don't actually feel.

I don't feel in control anymore,

because I am lying to you.

I'm lying to you,

I can't 

stop

lying to you.

Because sometimes the truth

is too difficult for me to face.

The monster under the bed 

I'm ignoring until I have the experience points

and the skills to defeat him.

Surviving until I can gather

the courage to speak my mind.

And I'll keep lying to you

and crying alone

until I learn how to

face my own demons

and fly away.