It’s just the hurt talking
I’m sorry.
I know, it’s all I seem to say—
words tumbling out,
rushing to escape before anger catches them.
It’s the things I thought I’d left behind,
sharp edges thrown where they don’t belong.
I’m sorry.
I don’t mean to make every moment heavy
with memories I don’t want.
The truth is,
I’m tired of the fight in me,
of apologizing to anyone
who brushes against these bruises.
So I say it again,
a little softer each time, as if that might fix it—
I’m sorry,
it’s just the hurt talking.
But someday,
I hope I’ll have something else to say.
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