A Decade of Regret

After Genetics of Regret by Jeanann Verlee


I’m sorry for the cigarette burn in the passenger seat of your car
And the lipstick stain on the wall in your upstairs bathroom
And the blood on your living room rug
And the crack in your kitchen tile
And I’m sorry that I drank all your good liquor
And tried to fuck your brother
In the same night
I’m sorry I called your mom a bitch
I’m sorry for the bald patch in your back yard from where I ripped the grass all out
I’m sorry for the vomit
I’m sorry I didn’t call you back
I’m sorry I kissed you
And you pushed me away but I’m sorry I kissed you again
I’m sorry I scared away the girl at the bar
And the girl at the coffee shop
And the bookstore
I’m sorry I can’t get drunk without bringing up the assault
The eating disorder
The pills
I’m sorry I cried when you told me you were seeing someone else
I’m sorry I cried at your birthday party
I’m sorry I cried during Heathers
And I’m sorry I yelled at your neighbor
And I’m sorry they almost called the cops.
Again.
I’m sorry for the stolen tampons
And the stolen cigarettes
I’m sorry I ate all of the food in your fridge then threw it up in your sink
I’m sorry for the gouges in your cabinets
The missing paint and the dented cans of soup
I’m sorry I tried to tear up your bible
And I’m sorry I tried to roll a joint with the pages
I’m sorry I’m sick
I’m sorry this took me ten years to say
I’m sorry I’m like this
All anger and grit
Bloody fist and gnashing teeth and spilt vodka

I’m sorry I didn’t call you back