The House of Lies

Yesterday, I was talking to a young lady who’d just recently finished reading my book, Tattered Butterfly Wings. She told me that she cried at the end because she really felt bad for one of the characters she’d fallen in love with while reading the book. I won’t say more because I don’t want to spoil the story for you. (Psst, there’s still time to sign up for a chance to get you a free copy of the book. The link is below.) The poem I wrote today, well started working on today could have been written by Glory. This is just the first draft, but it was something that came to me as I re-played that conversation I’d had with my reader.

My mother was the architect of
my first house of lies. I moved

in without realizing I had a choice
of not accepting the lies she spoon-fed me.

She didn’t fill my belly with sweet dreams and
pieces of “I can be what I wanna be.” Instead

she fed me stories of hungry men who would
skin me alive and use my bones to pick their teeth.

She told me stories of little girls who always will be
the wicked stepsister or just nobody special.

The role she chose for me was nobody special.

I ran away from her house of lies and became
the architect to my own house of lies and
recruited other eager builders who would help tear down
any possibility that I could be anything or anybody.

The new architects were builders who
specialized in building McMansion-sized houses of lies

with lots of windows for inhabitants to gaze out of
and shiny new cabinets, only the top of the line,

the luster of the shiny new home would blind me
to the pernicious intentions keeping house with me.

And I managed to get lost in all the spacious, but unlivable
rooms. It’d be years before I found myself. When I did

finally find myself, I took on a do-it-yourself project.

I will probably move one & build another house
of lies. It’s all I’ve ever known.

Just a little something I’m working on between classes. Hope you peeps enjoy it! And, don’t forget about the book giveaway I have going on. Visit

Peace & Love,



About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link:
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