This is not an apology it is a confession

Poem by Lorelei McEwen

Art by Alex Hoang

You were not divine.    

You were soft and brittle. You hurt gently. 


I couldn’t hear you.


You will be remembered as a wistful hammock. The bark to your back. You lived amongst the leaves. You were a sun-born. Summer-grown. Half-witted hairpins and barrettes, tangled in shifty skirts—oh, how you were a playful thing.


I couldn’t handle you and I’m sorry 

Contempt was the beast. 

And all along,

I thought it was just you.