what if
I chose to forgive.
burrow, to the belly
scoop this
sickness
by the handful.
I think it would
feel like ash
yet, jet black.
Powder everywhere.
I would weep
as I dug.
scraping all the sides,
to remove
every trace
Begging to be washed
free of all the
hurt
and anger, incinerated.
Released.
I guess, I do not always remember
that
it is my own job
to
free my own heart.
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