Stumbling into a room
Innebriated, flushed
Sweat collects heavily
Over your brow
A shaky forefinger
Thrown into faces
Of strangers in the hall
And then back at me
Swears used as adjectives
You tell the tales
Of the disappointment
You can't help but feel
When you look at me
I find myself apologizing
For carrying your genes
For knowing you
For being born with your name
I find myself apologizing
And though I don't say it
I'm really apologizing
For not being as valuable
To you as whiskey.

Hey,

I'm not mad anymore.

What was I thinking
As if love actually
Keeps score.

The fever passed.
Odd.
It felt so intense
at the time.
Now. it doesn't make sense.

I remember when:
                     My emotions blistered
                  
                                .......whatever that was,
.                                     .......that thing that you did.
                                            ..........or was it something you said.

                                     Well, whatever you or I did
                                     To me, it is buried
                                    And dead.

So, now is now and then was then.
What do you think?
Can we be together again?

Hey,
I'm not mad anymore.

i fall and shatter into so many pieces
that leave splints and gashes in so many people
that they fall and shatter
and lay here with me

Dear Poetry,
I left you for a month.
I’ve ignored you so much
but I’m sorry.
I need you, you’ve help me when the going gets tough.
You’ve helped me when all the sentences and phrases I say don’t unseal or make any general sense,
You’ve helped me express myself
When I am just a speechless coward and
When I have no audacity to speak for my own conscience.
You give them a home,
All my mixed emotions and letters
You call them
poetry.
Sense full or senseless
Forgive me,
I need you, I need you more than before.

I'm so sorry that my poems are so cheesy
I'm so sorry that my life is so
worthless
I'm so sorry that I still talk to you
I'm so sorry that I love you
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry

This I write to you
From the deepest sea
Where the gentle swell
rolls the boat softly

For it is here I am left
To contemplate my life
And the choices I’ve made
That extol my strife

I made them then
What’s done is done
They’re mine to own
Each and every one.

But I am the product of
These decisions of mine
And I’d do them again
Time after time

And so, this I write to you
From the deepest sea
Where the gentle swell
rolls the boat softly

And all I can say is I’m sorry.
To me.

I would apologize but it would be futile,
Since an apology is meant to serve as a promise that one will never let something of the contextual nature happen again.
But I can’t promise you anything
Because I know this'll just happen again.
Of all the facets I have
You just had to find me wearing this one.