Don't Make Up Facts
Don’t make up facts—
not to win a fight,
not to sound smart under neon light,
not to dress your doubts in borrowed suits,
or twist the root to bear false fruits.
Don’t claim the sky was red last June
just to own the room.
Don’t fake the tide, or bend the moon
to fit your chosen tune.
There’s power in “I don’t know,”
in silence, in letting the real thing grow.
Lies are loud and cheap to sell,
but truth is slow—
and rings like a bell.
Don’t stitch fake stats into your thread
just because someone somewhere said—
“People love numbers. Use more graphs.”
You can lie in charts,
you can die in laughs
when your bluff gets called,
when the floor gives way,
and the trust you built gets hauled away.
Don’t quote a source
you never read.
Don’t feed the fire
with what you meant instead.
Facts aren’t yours to decorate.
They aren’t clay to reshape, or rust to plate.
They’re not candles you light for mood.
They’re not weapons. They’re not food.
They’re bricks.
They’re maps.
They’re bones beneath.
They are the structure,
the hard-set teeth
of every bridge you hope to cross,
every cause you’d hate to lose to loss.
So don’t make up facts
to close the gap
between what you wish
and what you lack.
Don’t forge them like coins
to buy belief.
It’s a shallow trade.
A borrowed thief.
Tell me instead:
“I’m still learning.”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s worth confirming.”
These phrases are stronger
than fiction in armor.
Because when the truth lands,
you won’t need a hammer.
You’ll have the ground.
You’ll have the light.
You’ll speak and sleep
with your record right.
So don’t make up facts.
They’re not your pets.
They’re not yours to bend or forget.
They’re not seasoning for your script or pitch.
They’re the soil.
Not the glitch.
Guard them like seeds,
grow them like trees—
and know:
what’s real
outlives
what deceives.
