Tell me I'm clever, Tell me I'm kind, Tell me I'm talented, Tell

"Tell me I'm clever, Tell me I'm kind, Tell me I'm talented, Tell me I'm cute, Tell me I'm sensitive, Graceful and wise, Tell me I'm perfect – But tell me the truth." So wrote Shel Silverstein, the poet of simplicity, humor, and hidden wisdom. In this playful yet piercing verse, he uncovers the yearning of every human heart: we long to be praised, admired, adorned with compliments—but above all, we long for truth. For flattery may soothe us for a moment, but only truth, however plain or difficult, has the power to sustain us.

The ancients themselves wrestled with this desire. Did not the Oracle of Delphi speak in riddles that kings desperately sought to interpret? They wanted the gods to tell them they were destined for greatness, but the oracle, bound to truth, gave them warnings instead. Croesus, king of Lydia, was told he would destroy a great empire if he went to war with Persia. Flattered, he assumed it meant victory; but the truth was otherwise—he destroyed his own. Thus we see Silverstein’s wisdom: praise without truth is empty, and truth misheard as flattery leads to ruin.

History is rich with such examples. Consider Abraham Lincoln. Many tried to flatter him, to praise his speeches and his wisdom. But he valued above all those who would speak truth to him, even when it was harsh. He surrounded himself with rivals and critics in his cabinet, not yes-men, because he understood that leadership built on flattery collapses, but leadership rooted in truth endures. His greatness was not that he was told he was perfect, but that he listened to those who dared tell him when he was wrong.

Silverstein’s words also reflect the intimate hunger of the human spirit. In love, in friendship, in family, we crave not only admiration but honesty. To be told we are clever, kind, or graceful pleases the ego; but when those words are false, we feel hollow. Truth, even when it does not flatter, gives us grounding. It is better to hear, "You are flawed, but I love you still," than to hear endless praise that is empty of sincerity. Truth binds hearts together; lies only mask distance.

This teaching is as much about self-deception as it is about others. Many invent lies to soothe themselves—believing they are more perfect than they are, or that their flaws do not matter. But the poet warns us: truth must always be the final word. For only truth allows growth, only truth clears the way for change. To be told you are perfect is to be frozen. To be told the truth is to be given the chance to become more than you are.

The lesson here is profound: seek not flattery, but truth. Do not surround yourself with voices that only praise you, nor crave admiration more than honesty. Flattery is a sweet poison—it tastes good but weakens the soul. Truth is like medicine—it may sting, but it heals. Learn to love those who give you truth, even when it hurts, for they are the ones who keep you alive in spirit.

Practically, this means asking for honesty in your relationships and giving honesty in return. Speak kindly, but speak truthfully. Do not fear to tell a friend when they err, nor to admit your own faults when others point them out. When you praise, let your praise be sincere. When you correct, let your correction be loving. In this balance lies the wisdom of Silverstein’s verse: life is enriched by kindness and beauty, but only truth makes it real.

So remember, children of tomorrow: you may be called clever, kind, talented, wise, even perfect—but above all, demand this: tell me the truth. For truth is the ground beneath all words, the fire that burns away pretense, the mirror that shows us who we are and who we might become. Let your life be built not on flattery, but on truth, and you will walk with strength that no lie can shake.