Every night I’m visited by memories of my childhood,

The ones that pierce the deepest.

They whisper sounds of my failings,

They echo my sins,

They drip with my guilt.

 

Every night I replay decade old conversations,

These movies run through my mind,

Spectacular productions of which I am the villain,

They dig inside me and keep me sober to my faults.

 

Every time I was the bully,

Every time I was obnoxious,

Every time I hurt you.

 

You in this case is plural.

You - is every girl I said wasn’t good enough,

You - is every guy I intimidated.

You - is everybody I cast as the victim in my play of horrors.

 

So to you,

I apologise.

 

To my old crush.

I said you could have been lighter,

And though those words were misinterpreted,

There is no excuse.

They should have never passed my lips.

I of all people know the sting a scale can bring,

The searing burn that comes with being reduced to a number,

The anguish of looking in the mirror and seeing only disgust.

 

I regret those words every night,

Not simply because they were incendiary,

But because they were a lie.

I never cared what the scale read,

For you were always so much more than that.

Only when I was with you, could I be me.

And for that,

I will forever be grateful.

And for that,

I pray you will forgive me.

 

So to you,

I apologise.

 

To the guy in my class.

You were not alone in the role you played,

But you took the lead.

My anger to you was unjust,

It was unfair, it was wrong,

And least of all was it about you.

 

In truth,

I envied you.

I envied your family,

I envied your life.

 

Your father was there,

Mine, though there, was never present.

Your father loved you,

Mine saw nothing more than that grade.

That percentage.

That A,

That B,

And God help you if he saw a C.

 

My apologies for lashing out,

I wore the mask of misery for so long,

Repeatedly branded with the mark of tragedy.

I pushed you all away so as to hide in plain sight,

But cries of “just get on with it” are cold.

They fail to soothe the pain.

And on occasion,

Misery craves company.

 

So to you,

I apologise.

 

My closet door is weak,

Tired and aching.

Worn down from holding back a mountain of truth.

For so long.

For too long.

  

Behind its wooden frame are skeletons aplenty.

A treasure trove, truly,

Donned to capacity,

My graveyard of secrets.

 

The Phantoms are restless,

Specters of my past yearn for their release,

I pray for the day I can set them free.

The day I can melt the tape,

And let these old home videos die.

 

I fear they will always be with me,

My proverbial ball and chain,

Destined to be by my side till death do us part.

But I fight a losing battle.

For classics are eternal,

Flesh & sinew decay with time.

 

I am drowning,

It is only a matter of time till I lose this war.

I resist,

I struggle.

But with each empty birth-day,

The cliff’s edge creeps ever closer,

Another gulp of air escapes my chest,

And I pray that in my final moments,

The serenity of peace shall be upon me.

 

And so to myself,

You are forgiven.