I know it isn’t my fault, but
I’m sorry that you’re sad.
I’m sorry that they hit you
(with words, fists, open palms).
I’m sorry that you feel unworthy.
I’m sorry that you spend some nights lying awake,
staring at the ceiling.
I’m sorry that feels so lonely.
I’m sorry that you’re ever alone.
I’m sorry that the years are short
and the weeks are long.
I’m sorry that it rains, on your parade, on your hair in the morning.
I’m sorry that the stories are just stories.
I’m sorry that you don’t like how you look.
I’m sorry that they look at you funny.
I’m sorry that it seems as though
the world is out to get you.
I’m sorry, but it is.