Real

Roll me like a chicken leg
in a buttermilk battered bowl
of dusty dry white flour
waiting for the grease.
Just pepper it with honesty, sprinkle it with truth.

For I am weary of the lies
Weak and faint from less than real
Tired and worn-out from the half-truths
The Velveteens wear beautiful
The beautiful is real.

Throw me in the hot-grease
that southern Crisco oil
the fire of smokey goodness, that smells and tastes like true.
Just pepper me with honesty, and sprinkle me with Truth.