Always Late

I sigh. "I'm sorry I'm late."
But it's becoming too much for excuses.
This makes 7 days out of 8,
And I'm starting to feel a bit useless.
I'm expendable
Undependable
And I really don't blame them for saying;
My excuses
Are not conducive.
"Thanks, but we don't think you'll be staying."

I cry, "I'm sorry I'm late."
But he's gotten tired of waiting.
His love now borders on hate,
Too big a job for simply placating.
It's undeniable
I'm unreliable
And I really don't blame him for leaving;
Our love affair
Had become unfair;
But I, I'll just keep on believing.

Tardiness was my cross to bear;
It had woven itself into my tendencies,
It wasn't a part of me I could just pare;
I even began as an overdue pregnancy.
So could I really be blamed?
This spirit just won't be tamed.
And it takes too much energy to be ashamed...
Always late, too difficult to abate.

In the grand scheme of things
It all seems rather contrived
No wonder I'm late to the "little things"
I was late to start my own life.