Honesty Poetry นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“It changes nothing. You still own me. I still want to leave. That’s the only truth that matters.” He was quiet for a long moment. “What do you want?” he asked finally. “Freedom.” “Besides that. If you couldn’t leave, if that option didn’t exist, what would you want from this?” She thought about it. Honestly. “Honesty,” she said. “Real honesty. Not the version where you tell me pieces and hide the rest. All of it.” “Even the ugly parts?” “Especially the ugly parts.” He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Not the performance of honesty — the practice of it, the daily choosing to say the true thing and to be the true thing, the interior given the correct location in the architecture of the self rather than filed under the bed. He thought about the simplest version said in January on a Sunday morning. He thought: the simplest version is the most honest version. The bones shown. I love you. Three words. The structure is visible. He thought about the Farrow house and the east window and the morning arriving before the day had assembled itself. He thought about the intimate register — the private morning before the shared day. He thought about the honest room at its most private form, the east bed

I looked regretfully at the balloon floating away gently in the sky. What a pity, I hadn't finished writing my wish. Henry touched my head. Without needing me to speak, he turned around to buy another balloon for me. I gazed at his back and smiled from the bottom of my heart. Henry, I made three wishes. First, I wished for world peace with no more wars. Second, I wished for a world free from diseases, and for the well-being and happiness of humanity. The last wish was for you, the very best you could have, a life you truly wanted, and not one trapped by me.

the one who wasn't pretending, who wasn't caught up in all the lies. The one who was honest and real. But was it real? Or just another act?

She whispered clearly as she frowned. "Ma'am, please help me!" I begged. "Help?" She said and narrowed her eyes, she looks like she was inquisitive about it. "Yes, ma'am." "What help and why me?" She interrogated. "Because you might know about it," I seriously look at her eyes. "Know what?" "Your poem entitled 'I'm sorry,' ma'am. Isn't it's about a man who lived in another world?" I said and I examined her emotion, her eyes widen in horror and chaos.

“Hello, Vanessa, I’m Detective Hayes. “Why don’t we get started.” “O-ok,” I trembled. “Whose body did you try to carry out of the woods tonight?” “H-hailee J-johnsons’.” "The one who's been missing for a month?" Hayes questioned. "Yes." “And she was a friend of yours I assume?” “Yeah. . . yeah we went to school together.” “Was she a good person?” “Well, how can you determine if someone is truly good detective, people are always putting up a mask. On the outside, they can be kind, but on the inside, they can be evil and cruel.”

Some pretend at honesty with their fake smiles shaped and mixed with lies while they Plaster gentle-toned facades and use clean gestures to hide their dirty intentions behind it all. They fake being pure hearted, feign it, they even perform it and it’s quite the repetitive circle between humans making it hard to find sincere people. Funny enough, it’s the ones who show their true nature with their sharp edges, rough words, unpolished truths who end up being less dangerous. At least with them, you know where the blade is pointed and at least they don’t stab you while calling it love. The only beings I’ve found that come close to real honesty are animals… and maybe objects.

with that Hamza left and now that on the floor not believing what Humza just said. I try not to ask questions my heart may not be able to hear the answers to, even if my logical brain can comprehend it with ease. There is a kind of honesty that is selfless and a kind that is selfish. I guess you'd have to ask yourself if it is more loving to keep the secret or to tell it. By Angela Abraham

Violet warns, getting a shrug. “What? I’m only being honest.” She defends, and couldn’t help but roll her eyes when the blonde starts her brief lecture of how honesty wasn’t always a kindness, and how she could have at least sugar coated it a little. “Sugar coating everything is bullshit, alright?” “No, it’s polite.” “Sometimes brutal honesty comes before politeness. Not everything can be so sweet.”