i apologize.

I still want to be a fix-it, like Dad.
(But I catch misery like the common cold!)

Sometimes my words are clumsy,
they come insensitive
and harsh.

I'm not a fix-it--
I'm just a huge wad.

I can't be like Clare.
They won't want to hear my voice,
they won't call me to tell me their troubles,
they won't miss me when they're upset or lonely.
Because I'm no comfort, everyone knows it.

I sat and watched her cry for ten minutes.

It makes me feel small and sad.
I hate it.
I want to be big enough to make everything okay.

I want to fix you, fix things, make it all alright, but...

All I've got are bandaids and knee-kisses!
No, all I've got are bandaids
and scared lips.
I've got warm arms and warm hands!
But I just hug my legs,
I just gesticulate like a madman,
as I try to motivate you or change your view.
All I've got are bandaids.

Fuck I'm terrible at this.

I'm just sorry, alright?

But I'm trying to be better, bit by bit.
Thanks for being patient.

(We've fought a lot, haven't we?
It always makes my ribs hurt
and my throat tight
and I wait for your words.)