Forgiveness Is My Call

They say, “Oh, forgive, just let it go!
Move on, be free, it’s time, you know.”
But I was the one left standing there,
Heart cracked open—raw, laid bare.

It’s easy to preach “just wipe it clean,”
But who bore the weight? Who felt unseen?
It’s my call to forgive, or not, you see—
Why is that so hard to let be?

Yes, I’ll cry till the rivers run dry,
Feel betrayal sting, ask the “why?”
For every piece of me that got torn,
My feelings don’t need to be reformed.

Why does my choice make you tense?
I am not the fixer for your conscience!
I’m not here to soothe every bruise,
I decide who wins my heart’s truce.

So let me rage, and let me heal,
I own these scars—I own what I feel.
Forgiveness will come when I say,
On my terms, in my way, someday.

Comments

The Spotted Cucumber

One fine day, tired of "always my way," I reached for comfort, or maybe just a craving. Picked up a spotted cucumber— Seemed harmless enough, so why not? But the moment I touched it, it pricked. Unwanted timber in my hands, Yet I let it be—what else could I do? Hunger led me to peel its layers, Only to find the filth it hid underneath. Worms writhing where freshness should be, Rot, disguised as something nourishing. I thought it was doing me a favor, But all it did was make me sick. Never knew comfort could leave such a taste— Bitter enough to spill my guts out. Next time, I’d rather reach for something rich, Something warm, indulgent, and worth my time. A smooth, chocolaty éclair— Rather than ever go for such a comfortable, unhealthy affair.

Us Two

As the hands struck two… Can you feel my hands on you? The power of the universe with just us two I am so into you. Who’s counting the minutes? Only we know what we brew. Even if the world fades to dark, We shine brighter in our spark. Your lips brush my nape, Undoing the shyness of my drapes. As your fingertips trace me, I melt like that slice of brie.

Temptress

I wanna be your temptress, Get you down on my mattress. You be the king, I'll be your empress. I already have a clear purpose, You can trace every curve and surface. I've got one mission for you— Are you built for the secret service? Let me take a bite of that apple, Can you make me pray without taking me to the chapel? They call me a wolf, but I will bear your saddle, Make me howl like the moon's lone disciple. Either play this like a boring game of Scrabble, Or get your armor on and be ready for a passionate battle.

Cruising Alone

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