Stunted

If I’ve left anything unsaid
to anyone who wanted
certain words from me,
certain expressions
on my face,
certain raised eyebrows 
or upturned lips,
I offer my sorrow for
those omissions;
my apologies

for having held back,
having depended
upon context to do
my duty for me, having been
paralyzed again and again
into a taciturn and morose
stick figure of a man, a thick
mistaken figure of a man;
my apologies

for not permitting 
those small reserves
of joy I held within
to seep out,
to leak into my face
and tint my space
in this dim world
more often with you,
more freely among you;
my apologies

for this offering 
which comes too little, too late
for some, I am certain,
I offer no excuse for it
or explain it other than to say
forgive me,

somewhere what I learned
of manhood
cloaked me in shadow
and now, at last, 
I see how this 
has stunted me
and held me apart
from too many
for too long.