I lied.
The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots
written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness
Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?
Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?
Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed.
The lie remains.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 
It usually takes, many years of these lies of ourselves that we told, to, come out in the, open, and, we avoid them, because, acknowledging them, make what we refused to admit, true, and, we want to, avoid feeling, the, discomforts, so, we work our hardest, to, attempt and, fail miserably to, escape what we can’t, and, eventually, we still have to, face these, lies of ourselves, there is, NO, escspe!!!
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Sadly, I know whereof you speak.
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A keen observation of how lies linger. Sometimes we lie to protect others but the outcome often remains problematic in the long run.
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I enjoyed your reading of the poem
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lovely observation in this poem.
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