1. I’ve never broken a bone
2. I think I can play the cello
3. I’m pretty sure all of my friends hate me, especially if they send me a text with a period at the end and then I’m certain and convinced that they never wanted to be friends
I was never good at lying, and my close friends know everything about me so it is near impossible to play with them. It defeats the purpose if you play with people who know your histories like basic math and can eliminate the square roots and fractions of my statements. And it doesn’t help that sometimes I’m blatant. I don’t always live a truthful life, but y’know what here’s another two truths and a lie,
1. I can fly, but only on Sundays
2. I have a terrible memory, if I forget you wear glasses or cut your hair, or that your grandfather died on Monday and it is now Saturday, I promise I was paying attention the first time.
3. I’ve survived dying twice in my life, both far out of my control, and short-sleeve shirts still make me itch, and I wear long-sleeves for as long as I can, and my name is a branding my mother placed on my forehead. Insecurity is a curse.
Do you know which one is a lie? Are you scared of what could be true? It’s two truths and a lie, but I struggle to separate the two. Do I tell of my idealized, unrealized fantasies and wishes that won’t come true, or do I follow the rules of the game but there is no rulebook for this game, how am I supposed to fabricate something believable or something that has died inside me if there is no distinction? Is it still a lie if the truth is not worth finding?
1. Sometimes I cry, but not because I’m sad, and not all the time, but because I feel like it.
2. Sometimes I joke and I don’t really mean it, but sometimes I want to mean it and I want it to hurt especially if you’ve shoved me in the dirt, but something in my conscience screams don’t.
3. I am a skinwalker. I’m never satisfied with my identity, I feel like there is more inside of me, but imitation is key to achieving the reality I seek out for me. I’ve returned to AAVE despite the attempt to remodel me, so why is it lost in job interviews and stark white classrooms?
How are you supposed to lie if your definition of lie is truth, if little white lies buried in secrecy and truth has been dead for years until it comes knocking? If truth is haunting? Maybe I shouldn’t be overanalyzing. I should spend more time answering and tricking. I can’t actually fly, I used to want to die. Sometimes I get butterflies when I talk to someone I like. I have a problem with the fact that some truths aren’t everlasting but are existing as historical artifacts in my mind, two truths and a lie.
1. My name is Hannah Mackey and I am a sophomore at Susquehanna University. I’m pursuing creative writing, publishing and editing, and I still have no idea what I am doing,
2. My anxiety is a cage and the iron bars are more like teeth and I’m scared that if you prod it’ll seep out of me, so please don’t pry.
3. Because I know for a fact that I cannot play two truths and a lie