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The Real Secrets

I promise I’m lying.

Teddy bears are sentient. Dolls are not. Not since the accident.

The colour purple doesn’t actually exist. We are all seeing a different colour at the same time.

Clocks tick anticlockwise but our brains don’t like it so they flip the image so it looks like the hands are moving clockwise.

The best cure for a broken heart is a haircut.

If you tell a lie, it will never come true, even if it was going to before you lied about it.

The Real Secrets (

Your prayers are not being ignored. God’s secretary, Joan, is just really behind with her emails. God was going to fire her, but she brings in cupcakes every Friday so everyone in the office loves her and God doesn’t want to be unpopular.

Optimum buffoonery is correct.

My favourite office supply is the pink highlighter, followed closely by the paperclip. The pencil sharpener can go back to hell.

Twelve apples are too many.

I think, therefore I think.

The Real Secrets (

Make a mess. Clean it up. If you feel like it.

Sanity is relative.

Your passport will self-destruct when it expires.

Just play along – it will be funny, I promise.

Odd socks at the back of the drawer.

The Real Secrets (

The pen is mightier than the sword, but only if the ink is black.

We are all alone, together.

Be kind to the monster under your bed. They’re your oldest friend.

Wake up. Please, wake up.

Nothing is a coincidence. Don’t pick up that penny.

The Real Secrets (

If your soup is cold, pour it into your bag and go home.

Blue parachutes are safer than red.

A haunted necklace once worn is difficult to remove. You won’t want to.

Let the cup overflow but don’t let the bubbles touch the ground.

The invasion is scheduled for next month, but it’s only pencilled in. We’re still awaiting their RSVP card.

The Real Secrets (

When a salesman produces a robin, offer him a cup of tea. The robin, not the salesman.

There is no incentive, only fear.

Tea for sorrow, coffee for joy.

You are a prisoner of your own hypothesis; a catalogue of irreconcilable differences.

A bronze medal is like an inflamed appendix.

The Real Secrets (

Pluck a feather from the wing of a hero. Plant it in the ground and nurture it with love. Observe as your home-grown hero emerges from the damp soil.

Linger, but don’t loiter. You are a guest, not a tourist.

One key on every piano is rigged to alert your local police station that you wish to confess to that robbery seven years ago.

Empty bookshelves feel lonely.

Write your memoir on a chalkboard. Doodle in permanent marker.

The Real Secrets (

Twelve months and three days. That’s your deadline.

Good luck.


The Real Secrets (

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3 replies »

  1. I like how this kind of poetry is under no obligation to make sense to its readers, it is kind of like it exists as an end in itself

    Liked by 1 person

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