I'm sorry,
Not for the naivety that set me up for disaster.
The dreams and beliefs of fifteen year old me,
That divorce, death and pain destroyed.
When a father can look at his daughter and say,
This is your fault, when you ran,
I told your mother you weren't worth looking for.
I hope that this feels, that it eats at you,
That you carry this divorce as your burden,
That it digs at you and you can never put it down.
When your grandparents, aunts, uncles and parents go to war,
And you’re the poster child, ripped into pretty shreds,
You learn what worthless feels like.
When you pour your broken beaten heart,
Into the hands of your best friend,
You find a place to hide the scraps of remaining faith.
But when you find another heart,
Beating loudly under his pillow at night,
Who has eyes prettier then you, prepare.
In conversations about how they will touch, taste
Each other, you learn what stupid worthless feels like.
Once you told me I am suppose to be unbreakable.
Perhaps it seems that way because I've seen broken.
I've screamed from the bottom of life’s glass lined pit,
Looking for help and mercy.
But I am not unbreakable.
He was right in some ways I am broken.
Find the right spot, poke it, I bleed,
Even if you don't see it.
But I am so, so sorry,
For being quicker to believe I was worthless to you,
Then that I mattered.
I guess that's a part of me that stayed broken,
With its edges all lopsided.
And I'm so sorry if I hurt you,
With my broken pieces and disbelief.
So unbelievably sorry.