You Call That Forgiveness?


Inflicting pain on myself

Is a choice

A choice that tells me I still have a voice

No matter how frowned upon it is,

It will STILL hurt less than what you did to me.

It will STILL hurt less than calling us a family.

I see no family.

I see a master who has hammered into the heads of his slaves

That HE is in charge, and HE should be saved

And they follow.

Willingly, they follow.

Blindly, they follow.

If a man walked in and murdered your spouse, would you invite him to dinner?

Would you ask him to watch your children while you went out of town?

Plato said, “Is it not in the nature of things that action should come less close to truth than thought?”

After all, actions speak louder than words, do they not?

And here you are, telling me that you love me.

While you stand over me with that God-forsaken knife called “forgiveness” in your hand

And the steel cable puppet strings shine bright gold to all of us

Yet they’re still invisible to you.

And all we can say is, “How dare you.”

How dare you!

How dare you twist what’s wrong into what’s right!

How dare you sacrifice three generations for a criminal!

How dare you play God and decide the guilty is innocent, and the innocent—GUILTY.

Your high tower is collapsing, and yet you’re still building.

And when it collapses, we’ll all just be standing and looking.

There can be no balance without both justice and mercy.

Stop tryin’ to tip the scale.

False gods will never prevail. 


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