I'm sorry I called you a pompous conservative, and I'm sorry I'm not.
I'm sorry my focus is not on your intellectually cultured examples of real life moments - your 1988 Mercury Tracer taking its last gulp of oxygen, how nothing pans out to be, your narrow expectations of others.
I'm sorry I don't fit in that canister.
I'm sorry that others do not gravitate to your beck and call. your call is imperious.
I'm sorry my integrity flows in me, rather than outwards. I've never been one to exhibit my prizes.
(I'll just write about your buzzing blurbs and your pick up sticks that amount to your arrogance and pride.)
I'm sorry I'm a target and my voice box turns into knots when I turn the volume up.
I'm sorry that when I find nerves and pulses, my body wants to notify you that you are a *****.