I’ve made some mistakes, I whisper into the trees
I let my secrets spill and splash around me,
selfishly drowning all in my wake of problems
too late to solve

and if the leaves absorb the tales I tell
I hope one day,
they will wilt and die
and scuttle down pavements
Whip through your hair
And they will tell you what I've told them

for when I speak to the speechless
the apologies don't catch in my throat
and my tongue no longer  summons lies
if you had skin of chloroplasts
and blood of xylem and phloem
then I might be able to transmit my thoughts
however,
you aren't a tree
and you are covered with flesh and filled with bones
so panic slows my words
silences the truth

and for that,
I am
Sorry.