Poem as Apology to the Universe

For all the times I believe better
to ask forgiveness instead of permission.

For the times I break the quiet,
and all the times I refuse to speak.

For plucking fruit still jacketed in green
just to cut it open and prove it has a heart.

For pressing my eager hand on the glass 
and lifting the ropes, despite the warnings.

For all the times I mean no but 
my mouth, this body, says yes or maybe.

For thinking the world is always willing to help, 
rather than lying in wait as an orange sunrise.

For the hours I let grief eat from my hand
and the nights I pray for sleep so when I wake

everything stretched to near breaking 
will return to its unbroken self.