Why am I always
so quick to say….I’m sorry
before I’ve even bothered
to ascertain
the degree of my guilt
or whether
My crime is a felony,
or a misdemeanor?
Or, if, in fact
I am the vile perpetrator
of the alleged crime
at all?
Why do I not give myself
even the right to a fair trial
to be heard by a jury of my peers?
Where are the voices
of my peers?
Do they not reside within
the place that houses
the voices that belittle
and judge
and criticize?
That very same place?
I look, but they are not there.
Perhaps they’ve been chased out
or the idea of their presence
was just a hoax to begin with,
so the others could find mild amusement
in watching me look for them, in vain.
I’m Sorry. So very, very sorry.
There. Feel better now?
Does the recepient of my
heartfelt, painfull apology
feel delightfully appeased
and chest-out superior
to the lowly likes of me?
Have I groveled enough?
Ground my nose deep enough
in the dirt?
Recoiled my sinful self
tight enough, in Shame?
Shame.
The mighty manipulator.
The leader of the pack!
The aura I have dwelt in
all the days
of my
Life.
Acting like a radar-antannae
attracting those that have learned
to feel superior
and get instantly high on the power
that floods their souls superficially
and temporarily
when they point a finger downward,
sending Shame’s poison dart
right into the center
of a tragically, tender heart.
Do they not know,
that they don’t need
to put out someone else’s light,
in order for their own
to shine?
Or, that by remaining
up there,
so far above the rest,
that high altitudes
make breathing
tight and labourous,
and that it’s cold up there
all alone.
Maybe, just maybe,
they wish that they
could say “sorry”, too
and mean it
and feel it
but they can’t,
having never learned how.
How do I un-learn
always being the one
who says “sorry”
no matter what?
Sorry is good for me
and for you
when it follows a hurt
or annoyance
or an inconsiderate
thoughtlessness,
intended or not.
It is like spring rain,
falling softly
washing away
the debris,
clearing the air
so very gently.
A sincere amend
rightfully placed
is food for our souls.
But, drawn from that place
where the gatekeeper maintains
that sense of worthlessness
and shame,
it becomes reinforcement
for the profound insignificance,
that tragically tender
hearts
feel.
I wish they could somehow know
how very hard
I try to please them,
and indeed, love them
so much so
that incurring their disapproval
will beget a thousand sorrys
and bring me
properly shamed,
to my
knees.
