I’m sorry I didn’t shave. 
I’m sorry my boobs aren’t bigger. 
I slur words out and you slide your hand. Down my pants. Up my shirt. 
Simultaneously apologizing for being too much woman and not enough. 
I’ve forgotten how to do so much in this moment. 
The fireball burned ability out of me. 
I forgot how to hold my head up. 
I forgot how to keep my eyes open. 
I forgot how to say no. 
I forgot to say no. 
I forgot. 

I’m sorry I threw up again. 
I’m sorry you have to take care of me. 
I apologize for the inconvenience I cause while your hands slowly stroke away my autonomy. 
I forgot to tell you I didn’t want you inside of me. 
I forgot to tell you that, yes, that included your fingers. 
I forgot to tell you that, no, just one was not okay. 
I forgot to tell you that this was assault. 
I forgot to tell you that this would haunt me. 
I forgot. 

The fireball made me forget then. 
Now, it makes me remember.