Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Knife On My Neck

There is nothing worse than an apology that comes with blame.
You’re sorry that I took it the wrong way.
You’re sorry that I chose to be wounded by the really awful thing you said.
You’re sorry that I felt that way.
You’re sorry that I’m too sensitive to handle a little, light mistreatment.
It’s a sequence,
a formula that never fails.
You tell me that you’re sorry,
but your apology always carries a knife,
and the knife has always been fond of my throat.
You coast by on concocted ideas about how I’m to blame,
for having a very human reaction to being treated inhumanely,
and I don’t say a word.
I just wait,
and wait,
and wait,
for the familiar feeling of the knife on my neck.

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