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COURTNEY JONES Truth The truth that people talk about isn’t a straight line. It isn’t a box with boundaries or an object with an end. It isn’t white. The truth that people talk about is twisted. Interwoven with itself and mottled. The sadness that people talk about isn’t a dark cloud. It isn’t a razor or a box of pills. It isn’t blue. The sadness that people talk about is deep. Dark and indelible. The depravity that people talk about isn’t material. It isn’t a lack of funding or food. It isn’t grey. The depravity that people talk about is painful. A hole that nothing can fill. The love that people talk about isn’t a feeling. It isn’t a bunch of flowers or a whispered name. It isn’t red. The love that people talk about is warm. Fills the gap and dissipates the dark.
COURTNEY JONES Truth
COURTNEY JONES
Truth
The truth that people talk about isn’t a straight line. It isn’t a box with boundaries or an object with an end. It isn’t white. The truth that people talk about is twisted. Interwoven with itself and mottled. The sadness that people talk about isn’t a dark cloud. It isn’t a razor or a box of pills. It isn’t blue. The sadness that people talk about is deep. Dark and indelible. The depravity that people talk about isn’t material. It isn’t a lack of funding or food. It isn’t grey. The depravity that people talk about is painful. A hole that nothing can fill. The love that people talk about isn’t a feeling. It isn’t a bunch of flowers or a whispered name. It isn’t red. The love that people talk about is warm. Fills the gap and dissipates the dark.