Puñeta cabrona

Lies pour forth from my tainted lips.

I have stared for two hours at this sentence and in this time I've written several pieces to follow it. I had a girl tell her fiance she wasn't who he thought she was. I had the daughter of a compulsive liar trying to find herself. Really I don't have an idea behind the sentence. Or I do have an idea but I can't express it yet. I want to tell you what it's like pretending to be someone you're not. And I don't mean in a denying who I am, not staying true to myself Barbie film moral kinda way. I mean when someone asks me a question, something simple like what I did at the weekend and a million lies lie waiting on my tongue. I actually have to concentrate to tell the plain truth. I've been a fake all my life and as much as I wish I could, I can't ever tell you the truth.

I wonder what you see when you look at me. I haven't worried about what people think of me for years. Not since my best friend changed her mind about me and tossed me aside when I stopped pretending quite so much and she didn't like me anymore. But I have always wondered how I come across. I remember sitting in the room a group of us had lunch in every day and everyone deciding to tell me they always thought I was a condescending snob. I've been called a lot of things. I've been a frigid cow for two years, a condescending snob to those who didn't want to get to know me and a surprising number of people throughout my life have called me a variation on a heater or a hot bottle. I guess I'd be handy in case of a snowstorm.

These days I'd like to think I'm more open, at least with the people I know and love. I clamp down on the lies that threaten to consume me. But I still exaggerate wildly, lose track of my stories. I hide behind sarcasm and my own writing. Distorting reality is all I have ever been good at (other than warming the cold) but I have been trying my hardest to actually experience what's happening now. I've been sleepwalking through life, dreaming up a better girl to be. In those rare moments I lay myself bare before you I can see the fear in the edges of your eyes, hear the worry in your voice and I change my tale and still I have never told you the whole truth.

And in the end I wonder if maybe I should have just written out the tale of Pigeon Detective VS Dapper Owl instead. Two high flying vigilantes flapping for justice. Can they set aside their differences to solve the tragic mystery of the peacock's plumage in time for the May ball and who will win the heart of fair Miss Sparrow?