I’m Sorry (so sorry)

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.