You are sorry for dehumanizing what I am and accepting this as truth.
You wish you could defend me but you can’t save yourself. This angers you.
So much, that I’m ignored by you and for you.
You know the way you shamelessly chide me and then wait for the dust to scorch my eyes leaves me blind.
I will give you a pass because I realize that you see better when I can’t see.
You walk better when my legs are dragging from all the times I mercifully cut you down.
You sound better when my mouth is bleeding from the knockouts that I spew to make you listen.
You fuck better when it’s not me or her but the version of me and her that you abide.
You laugh harder when I scream with the pain of my sensible inclinations.
To love you and me the same — despite loving us all unequally.
You jump higher when the stakes are lower than the prize of me.
You talk better when I’m out of focus and in the corner of my mind.
I feel better when I say you’re sorry to myself.