For Women Who Hide

I’ve never been good at accepting apologies

because in a society where my presence can be a burden

I have etched “sorry” onto my tongue

and it doesn’t even burn anymore when I say it,

quietly

so I shrink into the corner of my seat praying that

the night will soon be over.

No, I can’t accept apologies

the words slip from your mouth like poison

and flow through my veins until I’m crying

because they’re burning now,

ravenously

so I shower and try to sleep but I still feel guilty

for requiring respect.

The next time I see you I’ll whisper

the same thing I texted you at 3am

“I’m so sorry, baby”

and you’ll laugh it off,

indifferently

so I’ll place pain inside a bottle and pretend that

my apologies aren’t actually goodbyes.