I lied to her.

By nature I'm the only one who tells the truth.

That's the first thing anyone ever says about me,

But I lied to her because I'm very easy to break and she has a temper.

It didn't come naturally at first,

I won't have you thinking poorly of me,

Image, in my case, really is everything.

Lies stick in my throat like a little shard of me is breaking away,

But she asked me every single day,

The same vanity, the same sacharine rhyme,

And after awhpe, I quite enjoyed looking directly back at her with her own eyes and lying through my teeth.

You should try it sometime,

But only with someone vain,

Otherwise it's only cruelty, which is an ugly color on anyone.

"Who is the fairest of them all?"

It's a non-starter of a question,

And the lie rolled out of me as easily as slipping out of ill-fitting shoes.

I was almost proud of myself.

Then, of course, you know, I met the other one,

And in the presence of beauty, no one can lie.

Actual beauty, understand?

I've become the expert in perfectly-shaped eyes and flawless skin, it bores me.

Beauty, the real one, starts as a glow deep within,

Unshakable aliveness, freedom from the world's petty tyrannies, content to walk in light and shadow alike,

And, everywhere, to shine.

This kind of beauty, the other one, has flowers springing up in her footsteps,

Because she is entirely herself.

I've been toying with when to tell.

I have a mean streak, don't let anyone tell you I don't.

When in the presence of beauty, even the most delicious lie turns sour,

But a little showmanship never killed anyone,

So I've been waiting for the right moment.

Today, I think,

When that cold matron with the small eyes and smaller heart asks me,

I'll smile her own glacial smile,

And give her the truth.