Have I ever composed an apology
That did not gesture for sympathy?
I have always sought to avoid blame
And those violations which can not be
Rectified will likely destroy me.
What is an apology without amends?
And can one ever be sufficiently
Reformed to qualify for forgiveness?
I am selfish and generous
But the former, though essential
To survival, is impermissible.
How do I become a god?
That I should not want,
That I should be limitless,
Without exception and always ready.
How can I commit to promises
That do not permit my imperfections?
I understand the need
To confess plainly
But when I am the mistake
How do I avoid repetition?
I am, at least in my own mind,
More criminal than crime.
An accusation comes seemingly
At the expense of my life.
I am a coward.
I can think of no explanation for love
Only that I will never admire the portrait.
How can I see beyond my own self-loathing?
How much guilt can I ingest before
Living becomes itself taboo?
I want others to think well of me,
I am scared to acknowledge
My faults without clarification,
Clarifications inevitably beget justifications,
If I do not justify does it imply
That I do not care?
Do my justifications seek
Eradication of self?
I do not know.
I feel compelled to recommend myself
Because I cannot shake the notion
That I must earn love anymore
Than I can shake the notion
That I am undeserving of its reception.
I cannot bring myself to give you
A reason to leave.
I do not want you to leave
But experience has proven
That I am intolerable.
How can I apologize for your feelings
When they bear no semblance to my intentions
And come from insecurities furnished before
I was even born? I was not born a devil
Even if I fell directly into enemy hands.
You did not love me from the first
And perhaps not for a long time after.
There is no law against hate
Only what follows so often in its course.
I have wanted for love ever since
But those initial absences cannot be filled.
Though I have forgiven you,
I still find you prickly and take offense
Where none may have been intended.
How often you cite my short-comings
And some days I find it hard to initiate
Knowing that my failings have already arrived.