Why do I lie?

Why do people lie?
Don't they get that sinking feeling in their gut like I do
Why do people lie?
The one that makes you puke like you just cheated
Why do people lie?
Do they cry later on
Because they feel so guilty
Why do people lie?

Why do people lie
About silly little things?
Why do people lie
About things useless in the long run?
Why do people lie
About things that hurt others?

Why do I lie
To avoid opening up to others?
Why do I lie
When I feel so distraught later on?
Why do I lie
About where my scars came from
Why do I lie
About how long I've been clean
Why do I lie
And say how great I feel
And then I run off and cry
Why do I lie?


This poem is shit, but I needed to get it all out. And I refuse to tell others. Not only does no one read this, but this is completely anonymous and no one I know uses this website, so I doubt I'll get caught. I just felt so bad today after dance when I was putting my sweatshirt on and Deanna asked me how I got so scratched up. She believed my sidewalk story, but then it seemed almost as if she was sincerely pissed at the cement for fucking me up. It didn't have to do with the fact I barely knew her and it was personal, but that I lied to her and she actually cared, made me feel pukey. I mean, if she looked at the spots the cuts were in, the way one was out the outer forearm and the other arm was inner, the way one was partially healed and one was fresh, and the way they were perfect straight lines, it had to be obvious I was lieing. I don't get why I can't tell anyone anything. I still tell people I've been clean for one year and six months, but my arms say otherwise.
I really feel like it's this lack of being able to talk to people that has fucked me up the ass so much and made me lose the one person who ever meant shit to me. Without my Raye of Sunshine, my Sky, My Air Water, My Juan Epstein, my Pick-up friend, My Puerto Rican Papi, My other half, my one and only, I am nothing. Each day I ask myself, what are you doing? What's the point of being beautiful, if he refuses to look at you? What's the point of deadlines and due dates? I would have killed myself at some point over the past few years if he wasn't there, so now that he's gone, why not?
I find myself getting in fights with the mirror. People think I'm a psycho bitch and I can't say I disagree. I hate myself. I wrecked things. We might have not stayed where I had dreamed of staying, but it would have been better than having nothing and that's all I have now. I was an impulsive, bitchy asshole and now the only person who truly cared about me and the only person I truly could talk to and care about is gone. We both have nothing and it's all because I'm an anxious, impulsivee cunt.