The concrete truth of my youth
is now a malleable putty
slipping through my fingers.
I much prefer the solid nature;
so stern and unyielding.
Now, I look down the barrel to
this kaleidoscopic goop –
rainbowing permanent circles
into my vision; bending back onto
itself in an accordion fold.
It used to be “THE TRUTH” with
all capital letters, but now it’s
“your truth” all lowercased.
I forget where I am all the time
and step into the frame a
second late, it seems.
The truth is less like a police
officer and more like a prisoner
serving time for a crime he did
not commit.
I fear I was trying to enforce
the wrong things … and they
listened to me anyway.
-TS
Tyler Strittmatter 