The truth is I can hold the dying
woman's hand, and tell her, yes, you are dying, when no one else seems able.
The truth is, I understand what the
man who's lost his mind is trying to say.
The truth is that I don't know what
to say when someone tells me with the coupon plus the store discount, they
saved this much and then that much again.
The truth is, the woman who helped
her husband rape the girl did something that her husband didn't do.
The truth is nothing in me wants to
forgive that woman.
The truth is someone that I love
demanded that I lie, then punished me for lying.
The truth is, there are times I've
punished someone that I love for not demanding that I lie.
The truth is that I write because
justice ought to be a cause that matters.
The truth is, these are people, not a
cause.
The truth is that I screamed, I was
four and she held my legs apart.
The truth is she was smiling when I
screamed.
The truth is when I see the woman
help her husband rape the girl, I think about that smile.
The truth is, nothing in me wants to
forgive these women.
The truth is when I think about that
smile, I know why the husband raped the girl.
The truth is that forgiveness is a
choice.
The truth is I that only hold the
hands of dying women.
The truth is that I only understand
the men who've lost their minds.