My life is a monologue of inside out lies. Truths I give life because if I don't they burn inside. I tell them to myself before others can. Truths about my body and my worth and what I can become. I tell myself the truths other people refuse say because they aren't really true at all. These lies I repeat inside my head becoming my truth. I say them because I believe I know what the world sees in me. My heart straining and breaking until I learn that those lies are becoming my life. The lines I walk of not skinny and not worthy and going nowhere. I need to find that over sized eraser from the scholastic fair in fifth grade. I need to grip it tight and erase those lies and lines. Because my life should be a watercolor not constrained by thick boundaries of my own creation. I need to learn that the "truths" I tell myself are figments of my imagination and I only have to be what I make of myself. So maybe I'll lie a little more.