I say sorry as a period at the end of my sentence.
A filler word when I forget how to exist quietly.

Sorry for talking too much.
Sorry for being weird.
Sorry for needing.
Sorry for being.

I learned early on that peace comes faster when you shrink first.
I apologise for laughing too loud,
for crying at all,
for bumping into someone who bumped into me.

“Don’t apologise so much.” They say.
And I try, but then I say sorry for saying sorry.

It’s not just a word.
Its a reflex.
A shield.
I say sorry so they don’t leave.
So they won’t get louder.
So I can pretend I’m easier to like if I’m always at fault.

But I’m tired of folding in half just to make others whole.
Of whispering “sorry” like a prayer to be forgiven for simply being here.

One day,
I hope to say “I’m not sorry”
And mean it.

But for now,
Sorry.
I’m stil unlearning.