Sorry for being born into a man’s world,
for wearing shorts that crawled up my thighs like spiders,
for briefly glancing at him after he stared at me for five minutes
like a bloody chunk of steak, sorry for not liking the color pink,
sorry for not being able to turn the oven on, for owning a shotgun
and knowing exactly how to use it, for having to hold my keys
like individual butcher knives, sorry for being so emotional,
for not wanting to have children, for gaining 15 pounds,
for eating what I want, sorry for “asking for it,” sorry for not wanting
to get any of that fake tan spray at the supermarket, for
hating how lipstick makes my mouth look bloated,
for eating bacon and French toast and sausage for breakfast
instead of yogurt, for piercing my upper lip, sorry for not giving
every man what he asks for, sorry for always needing
to check my plastic cup to make sure nothing was put in my drink,
sorry for being so sentimental, for not shaving my legs,
for carrying mace every time I so much as walk to the mailbox,
for being “irresistible” and “making” you cheat on your wife,
sorry for not wanting to have dinner with my elderly boss,
sorry for being born a woman
who doesn’t need a man.