Apologies

I want to apologize, all the time.

Maybe I kiss you, too much.

Some days I say too little.

Like I'm a burden to your comfort, if I squeeze you too tight.

Or lay too close.

Or breathe too heavy.

I'll rub your feet, while my toes ache

And make you dinner - or maybe order you dinner.

Because I burnt a pot, like I always seem to.

I'm no good at that either. Sorry.

I didn't mean to make you wonder

Or worry, when I was late that night.

The bus was full, but I didn't want to ask you away from home.

God forbid I need your help when it might inconvenience you

... That wasn't bitterness.

Or at least it wasn't bitterness, at you.

My chest carries pain and guilt, neither of which you built.

Uncertainty and weakness. - neither of which you feed.

No, but they're still around me. And around you.

Sorry about that baggage.

I was brought up in a world where I was, indeed, quite inconvenient.

A child is to be seen, not heard.

A woman is to be useful, and fragile.

A sister is to be supportive,

sometimes to play the role of Mom.

Sometimes the play the role of therapist.

Because little brother's break too.

But a man is not supposed to do that at all. So he struggled.

And the day he passed, he left me with his baggage too.

I know, that's all so long ago. So why do I carry these heavy bags still?