March 14, 2019

March 14, 2019

the story of your lies

has woven its way

into my world

inside and out.

stitched across my memories,

i used to feel it

in my belly,

then it migrated

to my heart,

it carved its way

through my mind

it remained on my decision making

like soapy film

on a glass shower door.

but that sunday,

it leapt forth

from my throat,

as if finally propelled into

an orbit

wholly separate

from my own.

your dishes and delicacies

had been laced with deceit.

your notes and questions 

were icing on a styrofoam cake.

i ingested it all

until I thought it had swallowed me whole.

instead, it made me.

you see, in the aftermath of

your destruction




i faced my own untruths.

your betrayal was but

a mirror of my own,

which ran far deeper than

the ditch i felt thrown into the day i told you to leave and never come back.

who knew that standing up would first

run me into the ground?

and yet, that tuesday,

my decision was this:

no matter where i walk,

i walk with truth.

no matter the words i speak,

i speak with truth.

i know my line

and hold steady,

with every step,




the story of your lies

is the story of the declaration

of the truth that pulses through

my veins.

“a declaration: not a response”


The above poem was first written during a Get Lit- Words Ignite VOLTA volunteer training. In preparation for the opportunity to volunteer for Get Lit’s Classic Slam in April, we were led through the exercise of claiming a class poem and then writing a personal poem in response. This method is one of the foundations of the Get Lit curriculum. The morning of the training, I was processing a big emotional reaction I was having around a contract I was negotiating. When I selected “declaration” by Andrés Montoya without any consideration, I knew that poem had picked me. I recognized there was more to explore under the surface of the emotional wave I was riding. Through the writing, the emotion worked its way to the surface and out of my being. Montoya’s poem is shared below to provide context for what came through me during our workshop. I am grateful to the leaders of the group and the brilliant women in my group that offered helpful insight and feedback that led to the present (above) version. To write is to heal.



Andrés Montoya (1968-1999)

i have found
the face
of story
lying again.

i’m tired.

i’m a moth
on sunday.

i’m rain
for a cup’s
crippled rim.

this is my decision:
i will look for truth
in the rough skin
of wood
sticking up
at the sky
from the largest hill
at the dump,

in the sound
of a car
on its way
to church,

in the smell
of beans
boiling away
into the night.

January 8, 2019

January 8, 2019