To my mom,
I’m sorry I’m not the son that you wanted.
To my friends,
I’m sorry I don’t stay in touch.
To the stranger at the grocery store,
I’m sorry I am not kinder to you.
To the bum on the street corner,
I’m sorry I look at you in disgust.
To every women I ever fucked
and never spoke to again,
I’m sorry.
To my future self,
I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.
To the two women I’ve loved,
I’m sorry I wasn’t the man you deserved.
To my lungs and liver,
I’m sorry for all the smoke
and all of the booze.
Please don’t turn against me soon.
Please give me a few more good years.
To the man in the mirror,
I’m sorry I thought so badly of you.
To the ticking clock,
I’m sorry I didn’t understand your meaning.
To my younger self,
I’m sorry I let their jokes get to me.
To the fat lady at the bank,
I’m sorry I think you’re fat.
But maybe exercise every now and then.
To the nights spent alone,
I’m sorry you were stuck with me.
To my bank account,
I’m sorry you don’t grow.
To my future kids,
I’m sorry for being selfish.
To my family,
I’m sorry for disappearing 3 or 4 years ago.
I couldn’t do it,
you asked too much of me.
I couldn’t be the glue that kept us together.
I wasn’t strong enough.
To the fighter in me,
I’m sorry I don’t feed you.
I’m sorry you aren’t respected yet.
I’m sorry I waited too long to believe in you.
I’m sorry your potential intimidated me.
I’m sorry you haven’t had your moments.
I’m sorry for bottling you in.
And lastly,
to the writer in me,
Fuck you.
You're a coward for turning your overdue apologies into a poem.