The truth is I can hold the dying woman's hand, and tell her, yes, you are dying, when no one else seems able.

The truth is, I understand what the man who's lost his mind is trying to say.  

The truth is that I don't know what to say when someone tells me with the coupon plus the store discount, they saved this much and then that much again.

The truth is, the woman who helped her husband rape the girl did something that her husband didn't do.  

The truth is nothing in me wants to forgive that woman.

The truth is someone that I love demanded that I lie, then punished me for lying. 

The truth is, there are times I've punished someone that I love for not demanding that I lie.  

The truth is that I write because justice ought to be a cause that matters.

The truth is, these are people, not a cause.

The truth is that I screamed, I was four and she held my legs apart.      

The truth is she was smiling when I screamed. 

The truth is when I see the woman help her husband rape the girl, I think about that smile.    

The truth is, nothing in me wants to forgive these women.

The truth is when I think about that smile, I know why the husband raped the girl. 

The truth is that forgiveness is a choice. 

The truth is I that only hold the hands of dying women. 

The truth is that I only understand the men who've lost their minds.