Poem I wrote a few months ago.

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Love is often just taken as things; gift boxes, presents, sugar coated things. Hands held as you walk, words spoken soft caresses, and kisses, and fairytale wings.

Love is supposed among those who agree, who see everything perfect in the other they see, a perfect matching of sameness of kind, but this is the only love that is blind.

Awake and aware, true love is a fire; willing to give, and never receive. Willing forgiveness, willing to teach willing to discipline and never deceive.

Love tells the truth although it can hurt, love even pulls enemies up from the dirt. Love is a prayer cried out for a stranger; Love is a gift, out to a neighbor.

Love is a parent that disciplines a child; Love is a gentle hand, taming the wild. Love is the judge and the law and the truth; love pulls out evil up from the roots.

“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only a human. He wasn’t a dog.” -Charles Schultz

But maybe above all, the hardest but least-talked about form of forgiveness is the humility and courage to forgive one’s self. We hurt ourselves by our choices in what we say and do and don’t do. But we also hurt ourselves when we hurt other people. And it is tempting to hold onto feelings that we are undeserving because of our wrongdoings. And it is tempting to be consumed by feelings of unworthiness. But no matter how much we forgive others and are forgiven by others, if we don’t learn to forgive ourselves and in so doing love ourselves, we may find that the forgiveness we give and receive is meaningless.