Truth
I want the truth.
The whole truth, not your spin
doctor, sound bite version of
the truth, but the real deal,
honest to God
Baptist preacher on Easter
Sunday morning truth.
The kind of truth you only tell
your mama, because she’s psychic,
and it’s a waste of time trying to
tell her anything else anyway.
Okay, let’s have it.
I’m a big girl and I can take it,
I won’t cry.
I want the truth.
The whole truth.
Did you eat the last
damn slice of pizza?
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- Edify1992's blog
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I really appreciate all the reads, but the reason I posted my work was to
get serious, constructive feedback from fellow writers.
Pizza, Pizza!
Edify1992,
You certainly have a good sense of humor. It cracked me up that you wrote a poem about eating and truth, and you call yourself Edify. What is eating at you? Did you really mean to write about the last piece of pizza, or is this a tale of the red herring, something else is on your mind? I was on the edge of my chair waiting for that stirring revelation, when all Hell broke lose and you demanded to know who ate the last slice.
We use pizzas to teach fractions. I think pizza is a great way to teach about truth too. No matter how we slice it or eat it, truth deserves to have its fill.
Bon appetit,
Kathy
Dallas, Texas
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