The Echo of the Lie

Sometimes,

we tell others

the lie we tell ourselves 

Not to deceive 

but to hear it spoken

in another voice—

a voice that might steady

what trembles in our own 

Their acceptance

becomes reinforcement 

a borrowed brace

against the weight

we are not ready

to name 

We feel the truth

pressing at the edges 

a quiet pressure 

a faint pulse

beneath the boards 

We know 

Of course we know 

But knowing

is not the same

as facing 

So we push that knowing

just out of sight—

behind the curtain 

behind the ribs 

behind the practiced smile

that says

“I’m alright” 

And when they nod 

when they believe us 

the lie gains structure 

It becomes

a rickety scaffolding 

but scaffolding nonetheless— 

something to lean against

until the truth

steps forward

and asks to be held

without disguise 

The echo of the lie

is not strength 

It is permission 

A small mercy

that lets us breathe

before the truth

arrives 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

August 10, 2026