I suppose I should feel guilty
for feeling the way I feel.
I suppose I should apologize
for feeling.

I suppose
I suppose
that apologies are in order
for feeling like a blimp.
And by blimp I don't mean
in a body - image sort of way.

See, I feel like a zeppelin
straining against the last mooring line
holding it in place
as it bobs into the air.

And you say
how I need a new complaint,
but I'm not moving on
when you never heard the first one.

This morning I cooked my food,
washed my dishes,
and picked out my clothes
without anyone criticizing my choices.

Perhaps I should say I'm sorry
for being ok with that.

I think it's time to say I'm sorry
for not being half the hero
of anyone's dreams;
not mine, not yours,
and certainly not the crazy vegetarian lady
who once scolded me for 20 straight minutes,
not for eating,
but for enjoying meat.

You need a new complaint.
No you don't,
your plate is really quite full,
and I don't quite feel
like hearing it tonight.