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Forgive What We Forget

Writer's picture: surrenderedwarriorsurrenderedwarrior

Most forgive what they forget 


We've all re.written stories to soften the sting of betrayal


Its how we survived the people who left us in raging fires while they shot anything right into the vein of numb


If we dont rewrite those stories we live in that fire. 


Haunted. 


Anchored to an empty that never fills. Accept mostly by water running off from the creek just north of our reach, flooding us with the lies those stories tell us. The whole while we be thirsty and we all know no one can drink brack water. 


Some of us can't forgive those who left the ones we love in the fire. 


Sometimes we are called the Warriors born to love those not protected in a bubble of deserving. 


Or midwives. 


We will birth people back to healed over and over + over. 


If we are honest, we relate to the forgetting to forgive. If we bury truths deep enough + funeral hard enough we don't have to look back at the corpses we remember as dressed for the part of loving us with sparse plates + barbed wire. While they feasted + freedomed at the expense of our hunger, bound. 



Me. I love people too much to forget for them. I've been tasked with remembering. Be I nomadic + always on the move, I square off four corners of safety, run my heart up that flagpole + this pirate deems any ground I lay my head as sacred. We are church. The medicine flows and meals are prescribed. Healing looks like nurture and compound bow. My aim, it’s good. I can target a heart to melting in one glance. I abuse this power. I will not allow vile near the threshold of this space. 


For those not taught their deserving, class can look like flowers on the nightstand, a full belly + words + actions that match. 


Too many children are left hungry for safe touch, kind words + an allowing for emotions expressed.


Trauma requires surrender.


Peeling ones armor off of their bare skin is no hurried task. 


All most people need is Witness. To be seen, heard + believed for their struggle, so they can stop forgetting to forgive. 


Monsters do need to be understood, so we + they can learn from their weapons. Still, by no means does that ever mean our bodies + hearts deserved to be battlefields.


We are not war. 


The truth can feel like a battleground. Everyone wants to preserve their own version of history. Its just, scars are evidence of wounds. And too many times scars look like sharp hands,  flamed tempers, questioned motives, a frozen voice a+ blinking frequently in hopes we might shift the frame of what we see to something less skipping over the backbone of our spine, face pressed to the floor + more panoramic view. 


Those with trauma micro like a Mother Fucker but oh if we could macro. 


It’s a HOLY EXPERIENCE to hold both the truth + forgiveness within our hearts at the same time. I'm not sure if that's everyone's story to live. 


I'll remember for you if you remember for me. 

As cliche as it is, truth does set us free. 


•Amy joon, 2017



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