On Being Caught Lying

Allow me my harmless fictions,

my occasional ignorance of reality.

Allow me the storytellers joy,

of revealing untruth owned by me.



All is made of stories,

borrowed, embellished or birthed.

Even the straightest fact,

is at least two stories worth.



I don’t believe that words,

are meant only to speak of the weather.

Why would I speak in black and white,

when all can be pinker or redder?