Truth Is What I Want.

You tell me I’m wrong. That I’m young and naive. Just wait and see, you say, some day you’ll think like me. You express your beliefs, a thousand contradictions. You talk and talk until I’m dizzy, trying to keep up with your game of chutes and ladders. You pretend to argue with me. But, truthfully, our discussions are nothing more than disguised monologues. Will you finally take the earplugs out and listen? Will you stop picking and choosing what words you like and which you do not, regardless of their truth? You call me prejudiced and judgmental. But is it really such a bad thing to want the truth and nothing but the truth? You say I’ll be like you some day. I’m sorry but, as much as I care for you, I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want the truth to be made up by me, composed of only that which sweetens my ear. I want to have the certainty that truth does not come from me. I want to know that truth is bigger than me, a broken, crippled girl. You can decide for yourself, but at least practice what you preach. Don’t be naive. Listen and look. The truth is evident and up in your face. It would be almost vulgar to ignore it.