THE LIAR IS ME I lived a lie for most of my life A lie so lived-in I could no longer distinguish I from the lie. And if you asked me then, I would not have seen. I could not. I did not want to be a liar, but a liar I was— Even to me. The lie was first, the story I told myself. I told myself I could be two. One for the world one kept from view. The me I thought of as me Was not the me I had hidden, The me I had forbidden— that was the real me. But now, the veil was torn, And the me from the shadows was pulled into the light. Then I realised, the me I thought of as me Had always been a puppet of the me I refused to see. And the light I now stood in was not the black and white that sustained the lie, But a kaleidoscope of colour and life. Because everything before Had been calculated, categorised: Right and wrong Saint and sinner Divine and demonic But now, I see. The me I tried to cast out, The me I tried to pray away Was always the me I wanted to be.