The Small Untruth

Heard a kid in the store today,

a clumsy fib for his mother's ears.

She just sighed, she knew the game,

but it brought back the years.

The chipped ceramic bird, hidden quick,

behind a stack of old books.

My heart a drum, my stomach sick,

but I met her judging looks.

It wasn't for me, not that time,

it was for him, his fragile world.

The first time I bent the rhyme,

my truth became unfurled.

And something shifted, deep inside,

a small, hard seed was sown.