The Truth

Why is it always asked what we like about ourselves?
Why don’t we ask the interesting questions?
Why not ask about what we don’t like?
Why not write about the truth? 

Is it too negative, too real.
Nobody is a perfect optimist,
maybe writing about what you don’t like
is the therapy we all need.

You can say you’re nice,
kind, happy, and intelligent.
People say the same thing,
maybe different words but same meanings.
 
I’ll be the honest one.
I can be selfish, 
sarcastic, sensitive and sad.
It’s true and honest.

We are not just nice things,
we are a mix,
salty and sweet. 
Nice and mean.

I can be nice,
fun, optimistic and loyal. 
This isn’t just all I am.
These are just the good.

Why is it that we can only ever talk about the good?
The pretty, the perfect, the positive?
Why don’t we write about the bad?
The mean, the modest, the mad?