There is only one truth. To state that a truth has multiple versions only means that there are multiple untruths. These untruths may be truth or known to the person who claims them as truth, but only because that is how they recall or understand the concept, as their perception is unique and only effected by their own thoughts, ideas, and views on and of the world.
the truth is there is no humanity left every person has dirty secrets whether they choose to share them or not is their business but its everyone’s instinct to belive they do therefore they should have the freedom of will to come clean .
Truth is a word that we have a definition for that very well might not actually exist in reality. It is something that everyone holds, and everyone holds it against everyone else. I don’t like the truth. It scares me.
The truth seems to move about a bit, but that’s not what’s really happening. It prefers to be subtle and hides in the most amazing and ordinary places.
“It can’t be true…” she gasped. He looked away with guilt, a hand finding its way to the knife lying on the bedside table. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tears pricking at his eyes, unrelenting. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” he repeated the mantra and took a step closer.
You’ve learned to shy away from blatant honesty, to turn your back on the truth
To be ashamed of your years and paint your face with false youth
Your mask your emotions with false apathy, taking unsaid words to the grave
In fearing what you can’t control, you’ve become your only slave.
The truth is, it was never about the money. Sure, ti was a hell of an incentive, but there a million ways to earn that kind of money, most of them not legal, but neither was this. Either way, it wasn’t about the money. It was about something much simpler and much deeper than greed, jealously. If I can’t have it, neither could he.
It’s only a reality to be made into a morale .truth comes from respect , courage and shamelessness. The truth doesn’t hide you behind a barrier of dishonest and miser. Truth is a simple road to follow. Don’t say what you think someone wants to hear, tell them what you really feel. Be confident in your truth, find compromise in everyone else’s.
flies high above the tree tops
on the wings of red-breasted bird.
I’m not sure if his wings are blue because he brushes against the sky,
or if his body is red because he’s been shot.
So many people have died for this truth.
Fly on little bird.
it kills me knowing i’m not the only one. it kills me knowing that i have to constantly compete. it kills me that i know i’m not your first or your last. it kills me that you could toss me away at any point in time. you kill me.
when you cannot stop his words from running over and over and over in your mind like a treadmill that won’t turn off, you have no control over your heart anymore. the truth is that you are lost and the way he breathes sounds too familiar to be a coincidence
The truth is it’s not an everyday thing where I can sit and imagine all the beauty and let my mind room into all the imagery in what it can create. I would relish the moment in which I can sit at the writers table and let my heart be content. This is the truth in which I am free.
Truth is…, what, precisely?
There are times when I do not know.
There are times when I would not care to know, though I must.
There are times.
Truth is…, how things are.
Truth is commonly associated with fact. When i think of truth, i think that if every single person in the world were to believe a misconception or lie that is put into the world then it would be perceived as fact, whether or not it was every really true. a lot of things in the world that we accept as facts could very easily be untruthful.
Truth is subjective. My truth is not your truth, or my brother’s, or my mother’s. I cannot see as you see, live as you live, breathe as you breathe. All I have is the stories you tell me, the shape of history on your lips and in your tongue. We are all truth-tellers, and we are all liars.
“The truth,” I said, my hand shaking around the gun. “Tell me the truth,”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice heavy with disdain. “You don’t know WHAT you want,”
“Don’t FUCK with me,” I spat. “I’m tired of all these fucking games. Just tell me,”
He sneered, his top lip pulling back to reveal too-sharp teeth. “You know you’re not ready,” he said, locking eyes with me. “And you don’t think you’ll ever BE ready,”
“Tell me what I want to know,” I said through gritted teeth, cocking the pistol. “Or mine is the last face you’ll ever see,”
Truth is in the heart hidden by the inmorality that many of us try to hide. It is what comes out in the most calm of times and is hidden in the most desperate. It is not always valued, but should always be treasured. It is what keeps man sane and moral.
What is the truth? Not everything is black and white, and at the end of the day perception truly is reality. Of course, there are certain things that just are what they are. Fact or fiction. But the word truth is so powerful, because so many people can look at the same situation, and come up with their own “truth” about it.
If truth is beauty, is beauty the only truth? I have seen this question asked many times. I think that it is. Beauty, no matter how relative, is always true, whether the content of the beautiful thing is true or not. It is wonderful.
Truth is there the moment the room goes gray, the sun setting but not in a gold way. There’s a stillness and a tranquility that sits in the silence, but your heart is pounding and your ragged breath grates on your ears. Your eyes blur as you stare in the darkening shadow. The flame extinguishes before your eyes; the steady inhale and exhale ceases. The paleness of skin sets in, the color dissolves from lips, and your tears crash against the floor like indignant waves clamoring for purchase on the shore. When the words dangle in your mouth but there’s no way to purge the depth and breath of this spring inside you, this overwhelming tempest that has nowhere left to go so it hurricanes within. Then the Spectre puts His hand on your shoulder, offering the cold comfort that someday He will come for you, but not today, not now, and He is sorry He can offer no more respite than that. When all the color fades, it is only you and Truth waiting in the bedside chair, and when She offers you Her hand, you feel hardly strong enough to take it. But the hold is solid and tangible, even when it burns your skin, so you let this new mistress haul you from your seat, and your heels click obedient across the cream tiled floor. She cradles you in the car as you cry and cry, She guides your shaky trek home, and as you sleep, She whispers promises that after all you’ve lost, She will never abandon you.
The truth was, she was lying. Or was it that she was lying about telling the truth? Either way, no one believed her. She was the girl who cried wolf, and therefore always a liar. Even if it was true, or was it?
I don’t know what this word means. To pick it up on the street in some form of book, or leaflet perhaps, i wouldn’t recognize it as anything special. To be hit over the head by it, I still wouldn’t know of its existence.
Truth is in the eye of the beholder.
I swear to tell the whole truth
nothing but the truth
but only as I see it.
My senses don’t lie,
but truth is not Fact.
You never said how to play the game, but you told me to play fair.
“Who said I lied to you?” You’re fidgeting. Your hands are in your lap and your fingers are twined together wantonly. You look debauched and ill and pale. I want to take you through my fingers and smell your soap on my hands. Shhh. It’s almost time. Don’t let yourself fall.
“I said I lied to you,” I correct you, and you look up suddenly. “What did you mean, but lying? I’ve laid with you and I’ve lied to you. It all depends on your tense.”
“I am tense,” you let out a nervous shaky laugh and lean backwards in your chair. The crinkles on your forehead are even more prominent as you smile, however false it is. “Of course I’m tense. You’re going to die.”
“Not for you, but for everything.” I press a litle chasteness right at your hairline and you blink sleepily up at me. “Perhaps for you. Just a bit. Go to sleep.”
“I’ll attempt,” you sigh. You’re all curled up in your chair. It’s adorable really. “Goodnight. Remember that I”ll love you forever.”
“How could I forget?”
I’ve lied to you again. Please forgive me.
Is there really even a truth? I’ve told so many lies I can’t tell the difference between a simple lie, and the truth. I know the truth, but I can’t admit it to myself. What is the truth, anyway? Just a collision of words that usually end up making someone upset.
It was the honest truth. There was no doubt in the man’s mind. The child had spoken with a clairity that could outmatch the best of speakers, a truth that only a child could say without faltering, their innocence is as bright as candle, shining in the darkness of today’s society. That was the truth, the honest truth.
What exactly is truth? Truth is an ideal that many people search for, but never really find. Truth is an idea that is always there. It has always been there, but most men have not been able to grasp it’s essence. It’s validity. Truth is what blinds people, and it is also what binds them. With it, we can experience the world for what it really is.
she turned the letter over and read from the beginning for the third time. the prose was beautiful, simple, deep. her mind churned. more importantly, her heart stirred, but it paused to add several grains of salt. was this a dream? it felt like it. a prank? she sat down. why would he want to mess with her? and if he didn’t… her heart unpaused and back to stirring
she turned the letter over and read from the beginning for the third time. the prose was beautiful, simple, deep. her mind churned. more importantly, her heart stirred, but it paused to add several grains of salt. was this a dream? it felt like it. a prank? she sat down. why would he want to mess with her? and if he didn’t… her heart unpaused from stirring
the truth hurts but the truth is the truth of that is the truth. so if you don’t respect the truth then the truth is gonna mess you up cause the truth can do that
the truth is i’ve never been more exhausted.
I am worried about what comes next.
what twist the path will take,
will i ever get to revisit the beauty that I have seen,
and will my tired eyes be able to recognize it?
I’m so scared of the truth,
scared that I will have the sadness that i experience today, forever.
There is only one truth. To state that a truth has multiple versions only means that there are multiple untruths. These untruths may be truth or known to the person who claims them as truth, but only because that is how they recall or understand the concept, as their perception is unique and only effected by their own thoughts, ideas, and views on and of the world.
the truth is there is no humanity left every person has dirty secrets whether they choose to share them or not is their business but its everyone’s instinct to belive they do therefore they should have the freedom of will to come clean .
Truth is a word that we have a definition for that very well might not actually exist in reality. It is something that everyone holds, and everyone holds it against everyone else. I don’t like the truth. It scares me.
The truth seems to move about a bit, but that’s not what’s really happening. It prefers to be subtle and hides in the most amazing and ordinary places.
“It can’t be true…” she gasped. He looked away with guilt, a hand finding its way to the knife lying on the bedside table. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tears pricking at his eyes, unrelenting. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” he repeated the mantra and took a step closer.
You’ve learned to shy away from blatant honesty, to turn your back on the truth
To be ashamed of your years and paint your face with false youth
Your mask your emotions with false apathy, taking unsaid words to the grave
In fearing what you can’t control, you’ve become your only slave.
The truth is, it was never about the money. Sure, ti was a hell of an incentive, but there a million ways to earn that kind of money, most of them not legal, but neither was this. Either way, it wasn’t about the money. It was about something much simpler and much deeper than greed, jealously. If I can’t have it, neither could he.
It’s only a reality to be made into a morale .truth comes from respect , courage and shamelessness. The truth doesn’t hide you behind a barrier of dishonest and miser. Truth is a simple road to follow. Don’t say what you think someone wants to hear, tell them what you really feel. Be confident in your truth, find compromise in everyone else’s.
flies high above the tree tops
on the wings of red-breasted bird.
I’m not sure if his wings are blue because he brushes against the sky,
or if his body is red because he’s been shot.
So many people have died for this truth.
Fly on little bird.
it kills me knowing i’m not the only one. it kills me knowing that i have to constantly compete. it kills me that i know i’m not your first or your last. it kills me that you could toss me away at any point in time. you kill me.
when you cannot stop his words from running over and over and over in your mind like a treadmill that won’t turn off, you have no control over your heart anymore. the truth is that you are lost and the way he breathes sounds too familiar to be a coincidence
The truth is it’s not an everyday thing where I can sit and imagine all the beauty and let my mind room into all the imagery in what it can create. I would relish the moment in which I can sit at the writers table and let my heart be content. This is the truth in which I am free.
Truth is…, what, precisely?
There are times when I do not know.
There are times when I would not care to know, though I must.
There are times.
Truth is…, how things are.
Truth be told, we’re all liars now. I accepted that fact years ago.
It might not be pretty but its the truth.
Truth is commonly associated with fact. When i think of truth, i think that if every single person in the world were to believe a misconception or lie that is put into the world then it would be perceived as fact, whether or not it was every really true. a lot of things in the world that we accept as facts could very easily be untruthful.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“The whole truth?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing but the truth?”
“Yes, damn it! Tell me!”
He puffed out his chest. “You can’t handle the – ”
“And don’t quote ‘A Few Good Men,’ for Christ’s sake!” I spat.
Sighing, he sat back down on the couch, forgetting about the warming glass of beer. He rolled his eyes.
“If it makes you feel better,” he muttered, “I was at the parade last night.”
Truth is subjective. My truth is not your truth, or my brother’s, or my mother’s. I cannot see as you see, live as you live, breathe as you breathe. All I have is the stories you tell me, the shape of history on your lips and in your tongue. We are all truth-tellers, and we are all liars.
will set you free. but what if the truth is the one thing that will bind a person?
Always tell the truth! From a very early age we are admonished to do this, and from the same age we observe people doing anything but that.
Do as I say, not as I do.
It was just “a little white lie” but don’t you go around telling them yourself.
Small wonder we turn out the same.
“The truth,” I said, my hand shaking around the gun. “Tell me the truth,”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice heavy with disdain. “You don’t know WHAT you want,”
“Don’t FUCK with me,” I spat. “I’m tired of all these fucking games. Just tell me,”
He sneered, his top lip pulling back to reveal too-sharp teeth. “You know you’re not ready,” he said, locking eyes with me. “And you don’t think you’ll ever BE ready,”
“Tell me what I want to know,” I said through gritted teeth, cocking the pistol. “Or mine is the last face you’ll ever see,”
What the hell is truth. No one ever gives you truth. No one ever says the truth. When they do, its only partially true. I’m sick.
Truth is in the heart hidden by the inmorality that many of us try to hide. It is what comes out in the most calm of times and is hidden in the most desperate. It is not always valued, but should always be treasured. It is what keeps man sane and moral.
What is the truth? Not everything is black and white, and at the end of the day perception truly is reality. Of course, there are certain things that just are what they are. Fact or fiction. But the word truth is so powerful, because so many people can look at the same situation, and come up with their own “truth” about it.
If truth is beauty, is beauty the only truth? I have seen this question asked many times. I think that it is. Beauty, no matter how relative, is always true, whether the content of the beautiful thing is true or not. It is wonderful.
I used to think
The truth could never fully harm me
Yes it would sting
Or even burn
But the burn would fade
And heal
And leave me whole
Happy with knowing
Then I met you
And created a fantasy world
That I would try to run away from
But I kept being drawn to it
Until I learned the truth
And now your name burns in my mind
It burns my tongue when left unspoken
But also burns when I can speak it
So now all I want
Is to go back
And unlearn the truth
So I can keep running from my fantasy world
Instead of walking through
It’s ruins
Truth is there the moment the room goes gray, the sun setting but not in a gold way. There’s a stillness and a tranquility that sits in the silence, but your heart is pounding and your ragged breath grates on your ears. Your eyes blur as you stare in the darkening shadow. The flame extinguishes before your eyes; the steady inhale and exhale ceases. The paleness of skin sets in, the color dissolves from lips, and your tears crash against the floor like indignant waves clamoring for purchase on the shore. When the words dangle in your mouth but there’s no way to purge the depth and breath of this spring inside you, this overwhelming tempest that has nowhere left to go so it hurricanes within. Then the Spectre puts His hand on your shoulder, offering the cold comfort that someday He will come for you, but not today, not now, and He is sorry He can offer no more respite than that. When all the color fades, it is only you and Truth waiting in the bedside chair, and when She offers you Her hand, you feel hardly strong enough to take it. But the hold is solid and tangible, even when it burns your skin, so you let this new mistress haul you from your seat, and your heels click obedient across the cream tiled floor. She cradles you in the car as you cry and cry, She guides your shaky trek home, and as you sleep, She whispers promises that after all you’ve lost, She will never abandon you.
The truth was, she was lying. Or was it that she was lying about telling the truth? Either way, no one believed her. She was the girl who cried wolf, and therefore always a liar. Even if it was true, or was it?
I don’t know what this word means. To pick it up on the street in some form of book, or leaflet perhaps, i wouldn’t recognize it as anything special. To be hit over the head by it, I still wouldn’t know of its existence.
Truth is in the eye of the beholder.
I swear to tell the whole truth
nothing but the truth
but only as I see it.
My senses don’t lie,
but truth is not Fact.
no matter the circumstance, the truth always manages to reveal itself in one way or another. this is what i hold on to
now that you are gone.
You never said how to play the game, but you told me to play fair.
“Who said I lied to you?” You’re fidgeting. Your hands are in your lap and your fingers are twined together wantonly. You look debauched and ill and pale. I want to take you through my fingers and smell your soap on my hands. Shhh. It’s almost time. Don’t let yourself fall.
“I said I lied to you,” I correct you, and you look up suddenly. “What did you mean, but lying? I’ve laid with you and I’ve lied to you. It all depends on your tense.”
“I am tense,” you let out a nervous shaky laugh and lean backwards in your chair. The crinkles on your forehead are even more prominent as you smile, however false it is. “Of course I’m tense. You’re going to die.”
“Not for you, but for everything.” I press a litle chasteness right at your hairline and you blink sleepily up at me. “Perhaps for you. Just a bit. Go to sleep.”
“I’ll attempt,” you sigh. You’re all curled up in your chair. It’s adorable really. “Goodnight. Remember that I”ll love you forever.”
“How could I forget?”
I’ve lied to you again. Please forgive me.
Is there really even a truth? I’ve told so many lies I can’t tell the difference between a simple lie, and the truth. I know the truth, but I can’t admit it to myself. What is the truth, anyway? Just a collision of words that usually end up making someone upset.
It was the honest truth. There was no doubt in the man’s mind. The child had spoken with a clairity that could outmatch the best of speakers, a truth that only a child could say without faltering, their innocence is as bright as candle, shining in the darkness of today’s society. That was the truth, the honest truth.
What exactly is truth? Truth is an ideal that many people search for, but never really find. Truth is an idea that is always there. It has always been there, but most men have not been able to grasp it’s essence. It’s validity. Truth is what blinds people, and it is also what binds them. With it, we can experience the world for what it really is.
she turned the letter over and read from the beginning for the third time. the prose was beautiful, simple, deep. her mind churned. more importantly, her heart stirred, but it paused to add several grains of salt. was this a dream? it felt like it. a prank? she sat down. why would he want to mess with her? and if he didn’t… her heart unpaused and back to stirring
yo nigga get the hell outa here kg says. man imma go to south beack fuc yall say ray allen
man ggggget outa here just get outa here says kg
she turned the letter over and read from the beginning for the third time. the prose was beautiful, simple, deep. her mind churned. more importantly, her heart stirred, but it paused to add several grains of salt. was this a dream? it felt like it. a prank? she sat down. why would he want to mess with her? and if he didn’t… her heart unpaused from stirring
the truth hurts but the truth is the truth of that is the truth. so if you don’t respect the truth then the truth is gonna mess you up cause the truth can do that
the truth is i’ve never been more exhausted.
I am worried about what comes next.
what twist the path will take,
will i ever get to revisit the beauty that I have seen,
and will my tired eyes be able to recognize it?
I’m so scared of the truth,
scared that I will have the sadness that i experience today, forever.