because when you told me
you had to leave for school
i knew that if it was me
i would skip it, just for you.

and then you were sleepy
so i let that happen, too
i knew that if it was me
i would stay awake, just for you.

after, you had to eat lunch
yeah, again, i let you go
i knew that if it was me
i would starve, just for you.

lastly
you told me
with simple words that showed no sorrow
that it was good bye
that you got tired of us
especially you got tired of me

i almost
didn't let you leave
because
i knew that if it was me
*i would never, ever go

is sorry really hard to say
this little word a breath away.

apologise and except the blame
it isnt hard and there is no shame.

a word to use to make amends
to your self and all your friends.

its such an easy thing to do
just a word that comes from you.

For the rest of life,
Keep me under your arrest

I want to tell you something,
But before I start I want to make one thing very clear;
This isn't a confession.

There was a time when I started helping others
Because I had learned how to help myself first.
There was a time when I stole the sun
Not knowing that something so beautiful could burn me.
There was a time when I pretended I was sick with poetry.
I heaved and convulsed ink out onto countless pages,
And to this day I blame other people for my pain.

But in truth…
I never learned how to help myself.
And it wasn't the sun I stole,
But with the way her eyes shined
It was easy to get the two confused,
And my God did she burn me.
I’m not really sick with poetry either.
These poems are just my muse,
And even if I know it’s not true,
I still blame others for all of my pain.

There are times when I help others
even though I can’t help myself.
There are times when the sun is the last thing I want to see,
Even on my darkest days.
There are times that I get so sick with the idea of poetry.
It’s hard to write something and not fall victim to it.
And there are times that I blame others for my pain,
Even if I’m the one who chose to get hurt by them.

And I want to make one thing very clear,
That even if all of my suffering is my fault,
Even if I’m the one who did this to myself,
I’m the one who picked up the pen.
But this isn't a confession.