If I'm Being Honest

Forgiving is as suffocating
as making friends in
high school. 
Why not give it a chance, 
people say. 
Why not try- you'll 
probably be happier. 
I'd rather fall 
downstream in a river, 
slithering down the 
slippery rocks
than forgive those
who have hurt me. 
I'm fickle like that-
sometimes when I'm angry
I say to myself, 
"I'm not angry anymore,"
and suddenly I feel like 
my normal cheery self. 
But then, when it
comes to conflict, 
acceptance, or forgiveness, 
I dodge away. 
Nimble on my large feet, 
passing others who care
less than I do, 
glancing backwards only
to make sure the 
issue is behind the horizon. 
I don't like addressing things 
that are thorny-
I'd rather swim around
space without a helmet,
as if the universe is
one giant piscine. 
It feels like
letting go, is all. 
Forgiveness feels like
letting go of my pain- 
like telling everyone it's ok
to be treated like that. 
It feels like treason
to the bones within me
that ache at night. 
Betrayal is much cheaper
than forgiveness-
it raises an eyebrow coyly
and sleeps in your bed
without asking. Before long
its scent has been infused into
all of your clothing. 
It's everywhere at once-
do you smell that?
I think it's betrayal. 
I've slunk away from admitting 
the truth, which is:
forgiving feels like forgetting. 
For now I can shield myself 
and expect my armor to
come away 
without a dent, 
but eventually I'll
have to say to 
those people:
I forgive you.