Sorry I was younger than grown.

Sorry my friends had no homes and you thought I might have weed in my dacks.

Sorry I was inclined to hide fear behind smiles.

Sorry I gave you my passcode and you read my texts and I knew that a stick was 1.8 grams.

Sorry I’d been sleeping in parks and giving myself headaches and a scratchy cough.

Sorry you took me to a grey beat on Adelaide street and stripped me in a sharp corner.

Sorry that night was so hot, and I wore skinny jeans and they peeled off like duct tape.

Sorry my skin looked so pale in fluorescence.

Sorry you called my mum at 11PM and she frowned so hard I could feel air depress.

Sorry officers named Brad call it ‘assistance’ and I was so lucky I had the right pigment.

Sorry I spent so much time watching Brooklyn nine-nine and it took me five years to write this.

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