i try for you like the world is on fire
and i live for you when you don’t want to anymore.
i’m sorry your dad told you if you pressed your thirteen year old
lips against hers and felt something
he’d kill you and now the world won’t be the only one burning.
i’m sorry your stuffy white priest in stuffy white clothes
clenched his hands around your throat
after he groped your budding breasts
and told you that’s the only kind of touch you need to like.
i’m sorry i didn’t pin you up against the wall and show you how passion feels
when i knew your eyes were hungry, begging “taste me”.
i’m sorry he tasted sour, they all will for us,
he’s just itching to pull up your skirt and show you he can make you straight
(if you two only spend one magical night together).
isn’t it enough to watch him come? selfish bitch.
i’m sorry parades feel too big and her hand feels too small and
you’re starting to believe there’s just no place for you between it all.
but i try for you like the world is on fire,
i write for you so you don’t have to,
and i love for you so we never have to apologize again.
By Siri Greene
Siri Greene (she/her) is a first year at Macalester College. She grew up in rainy Seattle and loves expressing herself through poetry and music. She writes poems as a way to heal, and often explores mental illness, sexual assault, and queer identity in her work.