Honesty Is The Enemy / The Inverse Of Me

I attempt to convince myself that I'll be victorious in discovering food
for this true love hunger, but I can't disregard the caprice I've experienced
ever since departing from the hermit life I once lived, in particular how honesty
has become the enemy who refuses to simply start a conversation with me.

And I could wait for honesty to speak in the morning, yet it will just continue to randomly
look but not stare long enough to void this lonely woman emotionally travelling through a tunnel
heading for permanent disaster, and I'm telling no one in particular that I can see the attitude of honesty
being wholly caused by the pachyderm bleb it adores yet has a contradictory relationship with.

And even though no one has ever expressed eagerness for me to pursue my dreams,
I know that in the most calefaction, a diplomat for peace somehow manages
to make stubbornness melt honesty in the mouth first and not in the hand where
it can easily be wiped away when the tears of those who decline to listen are near.

So therefore, I cannot neglect the inverse of me any longer especially
since my womanhood is unsure of itself even though final childhood innocence has died
in this peculiar situation, and so I now believe that my debility will someday
develop into a well rehearsed ability and thus honesty will finally give the truth.