Every Apology Was a Disguise

They mistook my silence for grace, my apologies for patience. But I was just afraid of what would happen if I ever said exactly what I needed.

I didn’t say no,
I said sorry.
Over and over, like a charm
to keep the wolves gentle,
to keep the room polite,
to keep my own voice muzzled enough
that no one had to feel the weight of my boundary.

I said sorry when I meant:
That crossed a line.

I said sorry when I needed space,
when I needed rest,
when I needed someone to stop expecting me
to bleed on command.

Sorry I can’t.
Sorry I have a limit.
Sorry I need this too much.
Sorry I exist louder than you wanted.

Behind every I’m sorry
was a door I should’ve locked,
a line I should’ve drawn in my own blood
and nailed shut with my full height.

But I was raised to keep everyone comfortable,
even if it meant splitting my own throat
and apologizing for how quietly I died.

They called me understanding.
They called me good.
But I was just afraid
to be clear.

They never heard my no
because I learned early to hide it under my tongue,
to stitch it inside an apology,
a soft throat offered up like tribute
before they even asked for a sacrifice.

I wore sorry like armor spun from paper,
a flimsy charm to keep the wolves tame,
to keep the peace neat,
to keep the knife pointed inward
where no one would see the blood.

They never knew the real wolf lived behind my ribs,
a snarl trained to swallow itself
just to keep the room comfortable,
just to stay small enough to be loved
by people who mistook my silence for virtue.

They named me kind.
Patient.
Good.
But kindness cost me my spine,
patience hollowed my nights,
and being easy to love
cost me the right to lock the door
without guilt chewing my bones clean.

So read this like a curse undone:
the last time sorry stands guard
where no should roar.
Next time they ask for what will unmake me,
I won’t hand them my throat,
I’ll bare my teeth.
I’ll speak iron.
I’ll let the hush crack open into something
that sounds exactly like freedom.

I’m not sorry anymore.
Not for taking up space.
Not for saying no.
If that makes me hard to hold,
good.
Let go.

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P.S.
If this stirred something in you,
it might speak to someone else too.
Feel free to pass it on.

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📚 This series will become my next book… Shadow Thoughts: The Silence That Kept Me.

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