Honesty Poetry Novels & Stories

What's with that smile… "You can start with something small." Trixie adds before I can argue. "Honesty is the best medicine, and sometimes it can be a good starter." "Honesty?" I chuckle, clearly not understanding her. Haven't I always been honest with her? "Yes, honesty," Trixie says before pointing to my head and flicking it. "And by any means, when I say honesty, it's real honesty. Not from your head, but your heart." "Anyway, rather than struggling here… Why don't you go to her now to explain? It's almost the blood moon, you know."

"Honesty remember? I don't care what it is, tell me, please." ✺ ✺ ✺ ✺ ✺ ✺ ✺ ✺ ✺

My phone buzzed. Frank: You're still mad, Glasses? I stared at the screen for a long time before typing back. Me: I don’t know what I am anymore. The reply came almost instantly. Frank: Good. Means you’re being honest. I closed my eyes. That was the problem. Honesty was dangerous. And Frank had a way of dragging it out of me whether I wanted it or not.

The ease of breathing when I'm around him. "Say something true," he breathes in my hair. "Like what?" "Anything. Something you've never told another human being." I am thinking of lying, keeping my secrets safe. But there is something in the dying light and his warmth and the impermanence of this that makes me believe in honesty.

I said, thrown, “we’re doing therapy now.” “I am doing honesty,” he said. “You are… noisy.” “Rude.” I paused. “But true.” “Noise is life,” he said. “That’s almost poetic.” “It was not meant to be.”

No hidden motive in his tone. Just observation. She turned slightly, careful, measured. Up close, he looked much the same as he had across the table—calm eyes, unreadable in a way that didn’t feel secretive, only thoughtful. Like someone who had learned patience the hard way. “Honesty isn’t always popular,” she replied. “Neither is truth,” he said. “But it lasts longer.” Something in her chest tightened—not painfully, just enough to be noticed. Words like that belonged to a world she had stopped believing in.

Bubbles of air choked her throat, keeping the whispers back, letting out only a stutter at best. Monica took the King James Version Bible, raised it up with a hand and nervously gulped down, different panic and guilt thoughts raced through her head but she dismissed them - not totally. "I solemnly state I will tell the truth without hiding or adding anything and I should be punished for false testimonies if I lie." Her voice sounded mechanical, like the voice of a person reciting something written. I implore you to say the truth, just this once!

She droned and his lips quirked up slightly at her words, but he said nothing as they reached the checkout counter. "Have you ever thought that sometimes you can be too honest?" Raven questioned, eyeing him as they placed the items on the conveyor belt. "There's no such thing as too honest. You either honest or dishonest, there's no in between." He answered with the only response that made sense. He had never seen reason to lie nor the appeal. Despite knowing that his honesty would sometimes makes ruffles, it never deterred him from being that way. After all, at least people knew where he stood and how to navigate themselves around him. Raven let out a small laugh in response, shaking her he

“I don’t bring hot guys to hotel rooms and have sex with them. I’m better than this.” I chuckle, amused by her self-hype. She groans again, hearing it. “But you’re so hot, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance again.” “You’re very honest,” I say. It’s a relief. I hate dishonest people. My tolerance for them is zero. I’ve put down more than I can count just to remind them that loyalty and honesty are my lines in the sand. “It’s not honesty,” she murmurs, giving me a look like I just insulted her. “It’s just desperation. Plain and simple.”

“That’s more important than ready.” “Honesty gets people killed,” I mutter. “In my world, lying does that,” he counters. “Honesty just makes it hurt first.” I snort. “That’s bleak,” I say. “Accurate,” he replies. He presses a button on the console. My own voice—caught on a hot mic I didn’t realize was live—plays back for half a bar before I shot to my feet. “Turn it off,” I bark. He stops it immediately.