My mom preaches forgiveness

but she can’t say your name

without hate falling off of her tongue.

She talks about the weight

that is relieved when you forgive

but she can hardly breathe from the pressure.

Her bones are completely crushed

yet she still manages to speak of letting go.

Oh Mother, tell me how good it feels to forgive.

You are doing so well.

Oh Mother, tell me which you’re better at,

forgiveness or honesty?

And when you tell others how you used to hold grudges,

when did this become part of the past?

What did you let go of?

Who did you forgive?

Yourself or God?

You say it takes great strength to forgive but you are so weak.

Do not spit this hatred,

do not carry the mountain.

The hatred subsided and the mountain is a hill.

Climb over it, do not find yourself under it.

Do not speak of what is not true.

You did not forgive him or yourself.

I know what you are waiting for.

It’s me to forgive you.

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