What does it mean to forgive? I sit and ponder the thought, Like I’m stricken with a divine plea. A decree straight from God’s mouth, A mandate I begrudgingly call fate. In the hesitation, I cling to a pragmatic mind, Trying to chart what it costs to rewind. It’s the birthright of the human state to stand tall, But even in that entitlement, we fall. To be mortal is to carry the weight of wrong, A title applied to us all before long. I look back at the map of my past, Enemies scattered like shattered glass. I’m tasked to say sorry, but the words turn to stone; I stood on principle for everything I’ve known. To apologize is to trade in your truth for peace— And almost every choice I made, I’d repeat. So I won't say I was wrong for the line that I drew, I’m just sorry the line had to run right through you. It’s the birthright of the human state to stand tall, But even in that entitlement, we fall. To be mortal is to carry the weight of wrong, A title applied to us all before long. Aye, yo I used to sit locked in the gloom of a pitch-black room, Hour after hour, letting power of the doubt consume. Drilling down deep, trying to harness the logic, Stuck in the static, erratic, pragmatically toxic. No man is immune to the weight of the damage, We inherit the flaw, it's the law that we manage. Shift the frame of reference, the evidence stacked, Your internal logic cracks when the context is tracked. Learned it young in the sixth grade, knuckles to bone, Struck a teacher down for stepping in a boundary zone. Stood on a principle: No authority bullies. Sounded pure in my mind till I saw the scene fully. The principle held, but the posture was flawed, A blind spot hidden under armor I praised and applauded. So if I’m giving an apology, it’s not for the stand, It’s for the childish delusion that I held the whole truth in my hand. It’s the birthright of the human state to stand tall, But even in that entitlement, we fall. To be mortal is to carry the weight of wrong, A title applied to us all before long.
