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Ting-Jun Oct 2014
I will not apologise.
I will not apologise for never fully giving you my heart.
I will not apologise for hurting when you were not.
I will not apologise for not hurting when you were.

Because I am not sorry.

I have apologised for every single thing
for as long as I could remember -
head down, “sorry” this, “sorry” that -
and you know what? I am done.

You were in the roots of my hair,
in every cell of this god ****** body.
And the heaving craters within my veins,
made by insecurities coming crashing down,
are evidence of a battle hard won.
Too long have I fought the reflection of a mirror,
too many times the jagged pieces won.  

Now I am marching back to my native land
to be reunited with the home I’ve made in my soul.

I will not apologise for leaving your war.
I will not apologise for not being you.
I will not apologise for being me.
I will not apologise for anything.
Elvie Libby Jan 2015
Tell me,
Tell me how,
Tell me how I’m selfish,
Tell me how I’m selfish for planning my ending.

Explain to me how, though you can see the ropes tied to my limbs,
and you can feel the itch of my scream in your ears,
and ignore it,
that I am selfish.
“They took their own life”
As if it’s a surprise.
They finally retrieved the ultimate prize.
The right to their own life.
A life spent on somebody else,
as I often restrict myself,
“I can’t leave, there’s too many people relying on me.”
Explain to me how YOU are selfless,
when day after day,
at any opportunity you remind me that I made a MISTAKE.
How dare I try to abandon YOU?
Was my mistake ever trying in the first place,
or not having tried hard enough?
How is it that a right to my life that doesn't belong to me,
negates my right to a death,
the only thing, that will ever be recognised as my own.

“Here lies, Libby Preston, a girl who felt the need to take her own life.”
I apologise for my ‘wrong-doing.’
I apologise that I took control of what should have been, mine.
I apologise that you can’t think past what you feel inside your head.
I apologise that you can’t accept mine.
I apologise for the fact that the human race feels it has the
right to end the life of another living creature,
but do not have the right to do what they would like with
their own.

A death can rattle the planet.
It will cause upset, naturally.
However- emotions fade.
Reality does not.
We can dive into irrelevance,
I will decide not to live a life taped to the sole of somebody else’s shoe,
I will decide to live for me, and to die for me.

Lecture me about consideration, go on,
I dare you.
Hypocrite.

I’m ‘selfish’ for wanting a right to my life.
You’re ‘selfless’ for stopping me.
For anyone who's ever been trapped by too much 'consideration.'
I don't mind if you disagree with me, this is simply my point of view.
Madhu Jakkula Aug 2017
I apologise but there's no room left for you to leave a scar on my soul anymore.
I apologise for not leaving you any tears to shed from my red blood eyes.
I apologise with all my empty broken heart !!
Simon Clark Aug 2012
The prison walls are tall,
And I feel so small,
The delicate tapestry is formed,
And my head is horned,
I can attack,
I can attack,
I can release the demons,
I can grieve and apologise for the punishment now that I have suffered.

Put centre stage,
In the spotlight,
On the hot seat,
My life on the line,
I apologise.

The trees can reach the moon,
I will join them soon,
The devious genius lives on,
He thinks up a con,
He can't battle,
He can't battle,
He can't free all the nightmares,
He can't cry or feel sorrow for crimes he committed for he's not suffered.

Feeling the heat,
Being questioned,
Firing line,
His sanity cracked,
They apologise.

An apology to the victim of lifelessness,
An apology to the evil of creativity,
An apology to the creature of diamond madness.
Written in 2004
Schanzé Aug 2015
Dear family.
I’m sorry for falling in love with a man of whom you do not approve.
I apologise for his tenderness and his tremendous capacity for hope.
For his support and generosity.
Most of all I apologise for the love he has for me, and for the love you never had.

Dear bigoted society.
I’m sorry I hold his hand in public.
I apologise for publicly displaying my affection for him by pressing my lips to his cheek.
For sharing the same spoon, plate, straw and cup whilst in your presence.

Most of all I apologise for believing in a love you so openly disapprove of.
I’m sorry that the contrast between our skin colour causes you to frown in distaste.
I apologise for loving him unconditionally, regardless of the fact that it bothers you.
For not being narrow minded and self righteous.
Most of all I apologise for you being too conceited to understand that I fell in love with his soul and not the likeness of his skin to mine.
MalakF Jul 2018
I feel the need to apologise for the way that I am.
I have no control, as if I was a computer programme.
I’m sorry that the slightest thing can shift my mood,
I’m sorry I can be impulsive and have a bad attitude.

This inappropriate anger is not intentional
and I swear to god
I know it’s unacceptable.

My friendships are a rollercoaster,
it’s practically bipolar.
One second I’m all lovey dovey
and the other second it will be as if you were never my buddy.

This is who I am and I hate it.
I’m sorry I’m like this,
I’m sorry I see no bliss.
Corina Jul 2012
you'll know already that you apologise tomorrow
for the things you'll do tonight
for the thing you'll say
for the things you won't say
for the things you cannot do

you're so broken
so tired
so much pain is hiding
in the inside of your bones

listen to my soundless screaming
listen to my verbless words
did you ever
experience this much hurt before?

and you know you'll apologise tomorrow
but tonight you'll scream inside
maybe hard enough to forget the pain
for just one
freaking second
Don't think to control me
I dare you, think again
You want a gentle lover?
I'm sorry, I am the fury

Never attempt to tame me
Because my flames will burn
I'll strip away at your soul
Careful for what you yearn

I'm no gentleman from books
This beast will tear you apart
This lust can never be stopped
Because it will take you, hard

If you're looking for sweet love
I apologise, that's not what I give
For my punishment will be harsh
I'll give you a lesson, on how to live

Don't think to control me
I dare you, think again
You want a gentle lover?
I'm sorry, I am the fury
Copyright © Chris Smith 2015
sara May 2014
it's cold and dark and calm outside
so you make sure that i'm tucked up tight
but i need fresh air so the window is open ajar
whilst there in the corner lays a battered guitar

i'm high as hell so you carried me home
and wrapped me up into a bed of your own
you throw a lumpy mattress by the guitar on your floor
and apologise in advance for the fact that you snore

because i can't even remember my name
may give the green light to most, to see me as 'fair game'
my hair is a mess and my clothes are askew
but that doesn't seem to matter to you

i'm taken aback as you toss me a shirt
you try to stifle your laugh but i catch you smirk
as i try to escape from the clutch of my dress
i hear a laugh which you fail to suppress

i wrestle your shirt with my limbs in a tangle
you yank it over my head, for which i am thankful
i wriggle free from the blanket and sit up cross legged
as you fling yourself down at the foot of your bed

you tell me you've just got a text from my mother
who says she trusts me with you and no other
and that you are under very strict instructions
to keep me away from all teenage destruction

it's 1.30am and my thoughts are cotton wool
but our bottle of ***** is still three quarters full
my eyes spy the battered guitar in the room
and i beg you to play me my favourite tune

an undeniably slow start as you mess up the chords
and ramble on about how i'm probably bored
but my eyes fix on yours with an encouraging grin
and as you continue to play, goosebumps rise on my skin

and as you place the battered guitar back down
you sarcastically ask whether i'm happy now
the buzz of my body and the smile on my face
shows that here, happiness is truly the case
2018 edit and I’m still finding guitarists cute um
It's funny how you apologise for slight and minimal accidents,
but you don't give a **** about creating explosions of Hell.
You're so ironic that your names could be the definition.
I'd rather you'd have accidently nudged me
than destroy my every thought.
kevin morris Jan 2014
This is a fictional account of the abuse suffered by a young boy. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1

Lady Macbeth remarked “Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil”. All children have their terrors. The bogeyman who lurks in dark corners patiently waiting to harm the unwary child. The ghost who haunts the attic where, even on a bright sunny day the child fears to go alone or some unspeakable terror, a horror with no name which lies just below the surface of every day life. In my case the ghoul who cast an all pervasive shadow over my childhood was Colin, a man small in stature but, to a child a monster of epic proportions.
I have, on occasions tried to comprehend why my abuser acted as he did. As a boy I had no desire to understand Colin. I hated him with an all consuming loathing. He was the devil incarnate who, if it had been in my power to do so I would have destroyed with as little compunction as a man would show when exterminating a rat. As an adult the hatred remains although now tempered with a desire to understand why Colin abused a small, defenceless child, physically and mentally over a prolonged period.
Was Colin abused by one (or both) of his parents? And, if so does this help to explain (but in no way excuse) why he took such great delight in inflicting pain on me? I met both of Colin’s parents and stayed with them on several occasions. At no time during those visits was I subjected to any kind of abuse. This does not of course prove that Colin’s mother and father where not abusers. It demonstrates that they did not abuse me, no more, no less. However, looking back at my visits to their home and, in particular the fact that neither of Colin’s parents abused me, I am inclined to believe that he was not ill treated by either of them. So what turned Colin into the monster who took delight in twisting my arm so hard behind my back that I thought it would break? The answer is, I have no idea. What turned apparently normal Germans into mass murderers in ******’s *****? The answer is the same, I don’t know. As with the concentration camp guards who committed mass ****** I can speculate that some where subjected to abuse as children and that this led to them becoming psychopathic killers. However not all of those abused in childhood go on to commit abuse, while many in the SS experienced apparently happy childhoods untroubled by abuse. Colin may have been abused by someone other than his parents but even if this is the case this does not explain or justify why he became an abuser.

Chapter 2

I was born on 7 February 1971 in the north of England. Soon after my birth it became apparent that all was not right with Donald Myers. I cried far more than any normal child ought to. In addition I banged my head against hard surfaces on a frequent basis which, obviously gave rise to concern. My mum, as any good mother would took me to the hospital only to be told that there was nothing amiss. However a mother’s instinct told her that something was terribly wrong with her son. She refused to leave the hospital and demanded a second opinion. This was provided by a Polish doctor who, having examined me diagnosed a blood clot on the brain. My distraught family was informed that I required an urgent operation and even if the blood clot was successfully removed I was likely to be severely mentaly disabled. Fortunately the blood clot was removed and I am not mentally deficient. The clot did, however leave me with very poor vision (I am registered blind and use a guide dog as a mobility aid although I possess useful vision which assists with orientation).

Chapter 3

As a young boy I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather. This was due to my sister, Janet being ill and my mum not being able to look after 2 young children simultaneously.
I have fond memories of playing in what I called “the patch”, a piece of the garden which my grandfather allowed me to do with as I chose. I recall making mud pies and coming into the house caked in mud literally from head to toe.
Being blind I relied on my grandfather to read to me. Most weekends found us in a book shop. Whenever I walk into W H Smiths the scent of books brings back happy memories of time spent with my grandfather, me sitting on his knee as he read to me.
My grandfather was a dear, kind gentle man. Had he known how Colin was abusing me he would, I am sure have gone straight to the nearest police station to report him. However he never knew and, being a small child I never confided in him.
I am amazed when I hear people ask “why didn’t so and so report the abuse?” As a small child I was terrified of Colin. Had I told anyone I was sure that he would deny everything and the abuse would intensify. I was not aware of the existence of the National Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To Children (NSPCC) and even had I known of their existence I would, as a frightened little boy have lacked the courage to pick up the phone and call. Colin would, no doubt have accused me of lying and in the 1970’s and 1980’s children where rarely believed when making alegations of abuse.

Chapter 4

I used to dread leaving the safety of my grandfather’s home to spend time with Colin and my mother. My heart would sink when Colin or my mum came to collect me from my grandfather’s. On one occasion I deliberately dropped the car keys behind the kitchen worktop in the forlorn hope this would prevent my mum taking me to stay with her and Colin. Oh vain hope, the keys where discovered and I found myself in the lair of the abuser.
Colin took care never to abuse me in the presence of others. He was, however adept at tormenting me when my mum or other people where nearby but couldn’t see what he was doing. One incident is indelibly etched on my memory. I was sitting on the sofa, in the living room. The room opened straight out into the street and I was seated close to the front door. My mum called to me from outside asking whether I wanted to accompany her to the supermarket. I replied “yes” but before I could leave to join her Colin, who was sitting on the same sofa twisted my arm behind my back and whispered that I should tell my mum that I had changed my mind. I continued to attempt to leave but Colin increased the pressure saying that if I didn’t inform my mum that I had changed my mind he would break my arm. Naturally I called to my mum that I no longer wished to go with her and she left without me.
Being outside my mum did not see the abuse taking place a mere few feet from where she was standing.
On another occasion, while Colin and I where sitting in the living room, he forced a chipped mug into my lip which drew blood. Again my mum was present in the kitchen, which was located next to the living room but did not observe the abuse. On entering the living room and noticing the scar a few minutes later she enquired what had caused it. At this point in time I don’t recollect whether Colin put the lie into my mouth or whether I concocted the story in order to avoid further abuse. In any case I informed my mum that I had cut myself with a chipped mug, a version of events she accepted.  
At times I thought that I was going to die. No small boy likes washing but I used to dread bathing due to Colin’s own unique method of assisting me to wash. This consisted of holding my head under the water so that my nose and mouth filled and I felt as though I was going to die. I would emerge, terrified coughing and spluttering.
Colin obviously derived tremendous pleasure from half suffocating me. On numerous occasions he would place a cushion or pillow over my face and hold it there until I felt that I was about to die. Years later when I attended counselling with the mental health charity Mind, the counsellor asked me why I thought that Colin had not killed me? I replied that he probably derived more pleasure from having a living child to torment than he would have gained had he murdered me. Also, had he murdered me the prospect of detection and Colin spending a long period in prison would, I said have acted as a disincentive to  him taking my life. .  
Colin was a sadist. In adition to systematically abusing me he also abused my mum. I remember him hitting her on a regular basis and on at least one occasion pushing her down the stairs. He was (and is) a ******* of the first order.
Colin didn’t confine his cruelty to people. I recall him flinging the family cat at me. The poor animal stuck out it’s claws to gain purchase with the result that it scratched my face badly. Like all bullies Colin was, at bottom a coward. I never once saw him abuse the family dog. I am sure that this was not out of any affection for the animal, rather it stemmed from the fear that had he done so the dog would, quite naturally have bitten it’s tormentor in self defence. Oh how I wished that the dog had sunk his teeth into Colin.          

Chapter 5

We all have nightmares. As a young boy one of my recurring bad dreams concerned being chased by a hoover. To anyone unfamiliar with the abuse inflicted on me the relating of my dream will, no doubt result in mirth. However my nightmare was no laughing matter as to me the vacuum cleaner was a thing of terror. We owned an upright hoover which Colin would, periodically place on my head while the motor was running. I well recall the terror as the wheels of the machine ran across my head. Colin was nothing if not inventive as in addition to putting a working vacuum cleaner on my head he also made me hold the machine above my head. My arms would ache terribly but I dare not put the hoover down until ordered to do so by Colin. For many years following the ending of the abuse “the chasing hoover dream”, as I refered to it stubbornly refused to go away. While the nightmare no longer plagues my sleeping brain, whenever I use a vacuum cleaner the recollection of a terrified little child being tortured by a hoover comes back to me.
In another of my childhood nightmares I would enter the spare bedroom only to be grabbed by a clicking monster which wrapped it’s hands around my neck attempting to strangle me.
Colin choked me on numerous occasions. One incident remains vividly imprinted on my memory. It was evening and my mum, sister, Colin and I sat in the living room. All of the family accept for me where watching television. I was listening to a talking book about a footballer which contained many amusing stories. I laughed uproariously throughout much of the book. Later on that evening, following the departure of my mum and sister to bed Colin choked me telling me never to laugh like that again as I had “disturbed” people. As I recall Colin’s strangling of me the old terrors reassert themselves. At the time I felt that I had, perhaps done something wrong. However the logical part of my brain told me that I had done nothing whatever to justify Colin’s barbaric treatment of me. He ought to have gone to prison for that incident alone. He was (and remains) the personification of evil to me. To this day I can, on occasions feel self conscious about giving in to the natural desire to laugh at a great joke when in the company of friends. I can (and do) let myself go and laugh uproariously but Colin remains in the background, like Banquo’s ghost putting a dampener on the feast.

Chapter 6

Colin possessed considerable charm which is, perhaps how he came to entrap my mum into marrying him. I remember sitting around the dinner table with guests present and Colin holding forth on Charles Darwin amongst other topics. Although not university educated Colin was by no means unintelligent and could, if one was unfamiliar with his propensity to abuse, appear to be charm itself, a man whom it would be a pleasure to have over for dinner.      

Colin possessed the capacity to make people laugh which he used to devastating effect when making barbed comments at the expense of my mum. I hated him for his comments but laughed none the less which is proof of the idea that hostages frequently try to please their captors by forming some kind of relationship with them. I can not at this juncture in my life recall in detail how, precisely Colin undermined the confidence of my mum, I suspect that this inability on my part stems from the fact that I was, quite naturally concerned with my own suffering and the abuse perpetrated on my mum was of secondary concern. My own pain preoccupied me. I had little time for that of others.

Chapter 7

My counsellor and my dear friend, Barry have raised the issue as to whether my mum was aware of the abuse to which Colin was subjecting me. I have thought about this question long and hard and I still can not provide a categoric answer. I am sure that my mum never actually observed Colin in the act of abusing me. She was, as explained in the forgoing chapters, never in the same room when the abuse took place. The fact that her son showed a profound disinclination to be alone with Colin should though have caused alarm bells to start ringing. Colin was clever. The only time I can recollect when he caused me to bare a physical manifestation of abuse was the incident of the chipped cup related earlier. On all other occasions the marks where deep psychological wounds not visible to the casual observer.
I have tried discussing the abuse with my mum. Her reaction has osilated between stating that the abuse occurred a long time ago and that I ought to forgive and forget, to questioning whether it did, in fact take place. My gut feeling is that my mum does not doubt my veracity. The anger she manifested on discovering that I had informed my wife of the abuse perpetrated by Colin demonstrates that she does not doubt me.
Shortly prior to my wife and I separating we went to stay with my mum and sister. One morning my mum, my daughter and I went for a walk during the course of which my mum received a call from my sister. Janet said that my wife, Louise had told her that I had informed Louise of the abuse to which I had been subjected to by Colin. My mum rounded on me asking “why the hell I had told Louise about the abuse”. There ensued a blazing argument during which my mum hit me. On returning home the argument continued with Janet stating that I should talk to Colin about the situation. The fact that Janet did not defend Colin and state that he couldn’t, possibly have abused me indicates that she was, to some extent aware of the abuse.
I love my mum deeply and have no doubt that she loves me. Yet whenever we are together the elephant in the room (Colin) stands between us, seen by both but mentioned by neither. In my case I fear the eruption of a blazing argument. I have always shyed away from arguments which is, I suspect down to me having grown up in a family in which vilence and arguments where commonplace. As a small boy I developed strategies for minimising the likelyhood of being abused. My main strategy was to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I became a master at sitting quietly, not speaking unless I was spoken to and doing everything in my power not to antagonise Colin. While I don’t fear being physically abused by my mum I shrink in terror at the prospect of a verbal tyraid eminating from her.
In my mum’s case she does, I believe feel guilty due to her not having protected her son from Colin. The fact that she refuses to discuss the abuse to which I was subjected shows her inability to acknowledge to me her own sense of culpability at her failure to prevent Colin’s behaviour. On at least one occasion my mum has told me that the abuse could not have taken place as, if it had she would have been aware of it. This is contradicted by her statement (refered to earlier) that it was a long time ago and I ought to “forgive and forget”. Both statements can not be correct and in her heart of hearts my mum knows that I am telling the truth, she lacks the courage to admit her own failings and apologise to me.      

Chapter 8

At this distance in time I can not pinpoint the precise point at which the physical abuse stopped. At some indeterminate point (I think during my early teens) I began to challenge Colin’s behaviour. I remember wishing to join a social club and Colin informing me that I could not do so. Full of fear and trepidation I said that I would join to
McKenna Carrig Mar 2014
I want to apologise for being there and wasting your precious breath because I'm not worth the ground you walk on or the kiss you used to save me. I want to apologise for keeping you long enough to drive you insane, you said you wouldn't get sick of me but I knew you would because every person before you eventually found me revolting and left too, so what would've made you different. I want to apologise for causing all the scars on your wrist and I want to apologise for not being worth the trouble I put your heart through. I tried my best to make you happy and keep you around but you took our broken promises,  my hopes and dreams for us and left  without a second thought, I'll apologise for everything else but that's not my fault.
Basbee Dec 2014
Whatever I did to make you hate me
I apologise
I thought that it would be ok if we were just friends
And I appreciate it when you honest with me and ****
But I live my life and I learn from my mistakes

One thing I don't do is judge people
Or badmouth them in anyway

We're all human
So don't walk around here acting like you **** glitter and **** unicorn tears...
This is dedicated to my ex Bunmi
I Suppose Apr 2018
January 15th
I write a letter to my school
Asking why, after 5 years of hard work
I am still beaten down and abused
By those who put in minimal efforts
I ask, why do you think its okay
That i can lay down in a field
******
Broken
Alone.
Under their "care"

January 27th
I write a letter to my parents
I apologise for never being good enough
For being a borderline alcoholic
For squandering the life they gifted me
For doing drugs
For being sad all the time
Not everyone can be strong
For the strong to exist
So must the weak

February 1st
I write a letter to God
I ask him if he intended for this
If I'm part of his plan
If all this torment
Is simply a part of something beyond my understanding
But i know it isn't.
I begin to ask grander questions
Dear god, why is it that the thing
That makes up everything
Is the very thing capable of turning
Everything i love into dust.

February 15th
I write this from my room
Not to god, not to my parents, and not to my school
There is no return address
This letter is to you.
Each and every one of you.
It reads as follows:
"Dear You, and you know who you are

We live in a vile universe
Filled with people who want to hurt us
Uncaring governments
Weapons of Mass Destruction
At any moment, the paper you read this on
The hands you hold it with
The eyes you read it with
Will all turn to dust
So heed this advice
Don't squander your time
Don't sink it to the bottom of a bottle
Don't **** it into a syringe
Find happiness in yourself and people
People who will not harm you
People who love you for you
Find yourself
With the best of humanity
Farewell."
Written after i suffered the crippling realisation that I've done nothing with my life
Julian Delia Sep 2018
I want to apologise.
Broken relationships, I shall eulogise.
To those I know (or, knew);
Forgive my absence when you needed a warm caress and a hug,
But instead got frostbite, a torrent of snow or dew.

I am sorry for drawing a sword
When you were hoping for an olive branch;
I can be as thorny as an all-knowing lord.
I wish my heart was limitless,
And my kindness infinite –
I dream of love that is fearless,
And of joyousness completely exquisite.

Yet, that is not who I am –
I can be a calm ocean or a tempest,
A total commotion, or peacefully at rest.
I can be enigmatic and reserved,
Or, I can be charismatic, if the mood is reversed.
We are not good or bad;
We can be lewd and strikingly mad,
Or cunningly shrewd, or maybe sad.

We are the yin and the yang;
We all tend to sin, to our demons we hang.
We are objects of pure fascination,
In constant fluctuation,
A recalcitrant reconciliation.
So, I will say it one more time –
Look into my eyes, see through my guise.
I apologise to those who had no shoulder to cry on
And sought mine, when I was not there.
I hope you’re fine, and that someone showered you with care.
Finding peace when you feel like you are forever at war is difficult, but it's possible.
Joann Rolleston Jun 2014
If I hear ...
Your daughter outside screeching
I know she didn't blackmail you with her tantrum
You showed her you can't get your way all the time
She's learning it doesn't work like that

If I see you ...
Taking your daughter by the scruff
Dragging her from a bad news party
I praise you, she has no idea whats she's doing right now
You are keeping her safe

If I hear you ...
Remind your son he forgot his manners
Rude to the lady at reception for waiting too long
She is trying to help you
You are showing him honey will get you more than lemons ever will

If I see you ...
While I'm driving
Fumbling across the road toddler in hand
Pre-schooler behind
On your way to the park
You know what they need
And I think you're just awesome

Being a great parent is hardwork,
Never apologise for trying
You are my Hero
be a good parent
The Unknown girl Aug 2013
GOOD FRIENDS*
They are the ones
You think
You can rely on when you're in your darkest moments

Truth be said
I probably do have Good Friends
But these aren't the friends who are true to each other

Good Friends
to me
are just playing The Lying Game

Good Friends
Are what you call them
and what they call you

But deep down
they
don't really treat you as one

You think that you can confide in them
Yes you do
But when you probe any further
They also move further, and further

You try to show concern
Yet they brush you away

You try to ask more
Yet all they say "Nothing everything's alright"

I cry
everyday
Silently

I don't write great poems
I don't write good poems
I try to keep my identity a secret
So that i can show my true emotions

I just need a place
to show my true emotions
and this is the place
and my Good Friend's ears
i've realised
is not this place


I'm sorry
emma green Jun 2012
“My heart wanders the mossy mess of wet country, reliving a time when youth had charm, hand held hand, letters were written with not a classroom blot in sight, kisses were blushed.. and boys ran home to hide their eagerness.

Life was what it was, merely a game of engendered differences.”

scribbled the poet with his special pen. Leaning against an oak - as proud a tree as he was a man.

There was no need to make excuses for his silence here. Why apologise for watching space fill with swirling prisms across such a wonderfully vast panorama? So many greens in this god-forsaken county. But it was refuge for someone like him, was an escape route to whatever the future held. Anyway, where he was concerned, guilt was neither muse nor amusing, it merely lay a rough stony path ready to trip the careless walker he‘d almost become.

‘Oblivious to life in the real world’, he’d been told at least once a week for far too many years. He laughed, those words would never be uttered again.

“Shadows
of buttery budding green
dripping flavour ‘cross soil,
moaning,
muttering,
life.to.come.
fruitful.”

He shook his head, trying to be rid of thoughts, emotions: ‘I don’t want to think of her. ‘HA, too late! There and then the six o’clock in the morning drew his woman from the shadows of deception. He smiled. In his ragged mind she became .. she became a sapling formed of malleable clay. ‘I want to shape her.. a touch here and here so her ******* flourish with pleasure. Then, I‘ll stroke her right side.hip.thigh. to where the skin is both silk soft and a touch of treble plaited gossamer, that trimmed topiary of woman awaiting her future.

Who knows, in my next life perhaps I’ll be a sculptor and lay claim to the master’s crown. I’ll become lord of much and more.. why not, someone has to!’

“Memories,
hands soft as sugar spun
in quadrants arched quiescent,
harmonic pleasuring,
all.frantic.full.
ripe as berries brown
and fatal flawed.”

Man scratched the pen against vellum, then.. oh then, heard its crickling cry; remembered the rippling of her moan.. the call of his name.. the echo of his weeping into her. Then her - fingers gripping where space permitted.. palms moist and made fluorescent.. back arching.. hair flying.. falling onto each of the four crumpled pillows. Then, then.. becoming a streaming sway of tressed love battling breath. And the smell of wild garlic filled the air

never to ward off his fears, nor outsmart his demons. He was meant to be taken by the sight of a woman both too good and bad for him.

“Feeling night
a creep of nails tip touch
in devil’s bliss
where all men meet a foe,
but headlong thrills
deep.diving.hot.
as hell”

He took his pen and with a mighty shout, ****** a myriad of dark memories into his own heart - his memories, his memories - not hers. She’d laughed when he asked her to stay with him, to be his .. forever. Until that moment the pen had been softly ****** between his full lips but moved to be gentled between index finger and thumb. Her rampaging words struck home. They broke his silence, they hurt.

Whirling and swirling it over her *******, his pen became a weapon. He taunted her skin with a pen ripe with red ink, swore and wept, swore again. His hand fell screaming into her flesh, not once but a dozen frantic times. Finally her breath became a dense gushing cloud which swiftly rose so dark that, within seconds, once pure angels fell to earth looking akin to a chimney sweep’s boys - unregonisable as once human.

“Harvesting
kiss kiss full lips
gleaming at the point of red,
so sharp whilst ..
poppies parchment pollen
trembling.moisted.dark
unloved”

The body was found months later. It had laid until bronze leaves and golden were drifting upon and across what had once been a face, and now discovered by shocked, sickened walkers. When the police arrived, all they found lying near to the man was a pen and dulled pages within a leather binding.

A forensic scientist is still trying to decipher the wording on the vellum, what words he’s found to date are quite beautiful - or so he told his wife in an aside. She shrugged, he’d always been a strange man. Should have married her own kind .. too late now. Marianne looked away, unused to anything remotely like conversation from him. She smiled, turned the mirror to the wall and waited ..



© 2012 Emma Joy
Candy Noire Aug 2014
If you shot me with a gun
I'd probably apologise to you
I say sorry for everything
Cause that is what I've learnt to do
They tell me not to say I'm sorry
Cause it's not like it's my fault
But I just want to make them happy
And it kills me when they're not.

If someone you loved had passed away
I'd probably blame it on myself
Cause everything is my fault
I'll keep my problems on my shelf
They tell me not to apologise for my existence
But what a sorry existence I am
I crave someone to make me happy
But no one out there gives a ****.

They say I need to learn to say no
But the words won't leave my mouth
And even when I am not happy
I'll try not to make a sound
And I can learn to find my voice
Or I can stay in the same place
I know I'll never be happy
If I keep putting on a brave face
So tonight I'll rest my bones
And when the sun comes up at dawn
I wont apologise for you
No I won't say sorry to you any more.
This was actually written as a song but I guess it counts as a poem still.
thelemonpolice Jul 2019
I was born
And I was flattened
It's my culture I think

Girls should be quiet and pretty
God forbid they should think

I should be lady-like
Respectful
And despite all this

I should take all the abuse
Of these men who just drink

So I'm a doormat
I grow up
People walking all over me

I keep my mouth sealed shut
And don't tell them what you see

But I will scream today
I will stop them now

I've been punished enough
You're being mean right now

And I am learning to unlearn
Everything that I've seen

But your white skin means
That you don't understand me

You weren't born fighting things
that can't be unseen

You are workplace
Skin-based
argument free

Im not discounting your struggles
I'm sure your life has been hard

I'm just saying
that certain phrases
You say
Hit me hard

Like a slap across the face
You discount my existence

You think your opinion is the only thing
That should be considered

Well EXCUSE ME.
I won't apologise
Because I EXIST.

I'm not a doormat today
But I can learn to forgive

If you apologise
And stop making me feel like this

There's no victims
In this victimless
*******

There is no poorer or worse off
Don't even think

I can't compare myself to you
at the kitchen sink

It's not quantifiable
I don't want to hear about your life

Because we will never have seen life
Through the same eyes

In life there's suffering
Otherwise what's the point

Just get over yourself
Let's both apologise.
Sam Knaus Oct 2014
I have a habit of dreaming, screaming, hurling myself into the arms of love-coated guilt and tying a bow around her with smoke, smoke that burns my throat and weakens my lungs; but I will not apologise. I will not apologise for loving what destroys me, and destroying what loves me, because there's no point if an "I'm sorry" falls onto a broken heart and deaf ears.
Molly Oct 2013
I want to scream at you until you apologise, then hug you and kiss your face.
Make sweet trembling love to you in the faded
moonlight. Make you see the hollow hatred in my eyes.
You always apologise, no matter if you've done
wrong or not. Because you so often do wrong
sometimes you don’t see the difference.

Who influenced you? You live in such a big house
yet still you steal kerosene and sell it
to romani gypsies with long socks and wives
the same age as you. You are so easy
to find infatutation in. My drunken words
were thrown at you and you accepted them, sober.

Inside I felt this shred of hope germinate, but
as quickly as it came up it died. Some girl
I barely know loves you more. She cried over you
while I never have. Despite having wanted you so long
I cannot find enough love in me. But oh,
how I long to make you apologise to me.
Priya Devi May 2015
First things first
I'd like to apologise

I'm sorry I'm not the good Indian girl I was bred to be
I'm sorry I don't make round rotis
I'm sorry that the tongue I use to speak punjabi is broken and hides in my mouth unused until desperately needed
I'm sorry that I don't cook and clean efficiently enough to be wifey material
Sorry that I love who I love and don't hate who I was told to
Sorry that I can't follow gods blindly and not try to sneak back stage to see their shining gold adornments and blue body paints and multiple arms in full and bare glory and scandal

I'm sorry that I'm actually not sorry for any of this
I'm sorry that these are false and empty apologies

I am unapologetically whole
A human not just a race
A female not a trust fund or business transaction

I filter out the good parts of the culture I'm from and the ones I identify with
I'll wear docs under my saari no apologies
I'll grind on dancefloors and do the best Bhangra dance you'll ever see unashamedly

Hareems and hoodies
Bindies and pin up eyeliner
Hedonism and head in the clouds

My ambition is Ambedkar untouchable
My drive is a salt march surging silently non violently through cities
My hometown pride is built in concrete and rickshaw dust,
Prejudice and Bollywood lust
More of a rant than a poem
Low-Key Jan 2016
Don't look at me that way
You can't always have your way
No I'm not someone you slay
And no you can't ask how much I weigh

Don't say the place where I belong is the kitchen
Just because I am a woman.

Don't stare at me secretly from the window
Don't think you can impress me you ******
Don't think you could ever be my shadow
Always behind me trying to follow

Don't think my courage can't be summoned
Just because I am a woman.

Don't think you can sit in the empty seat next to me in the bus
What , do you think I can't create a fuss ?
Don't think you can just touch me and run
It shows you're scared and what makes you think you have won?

Don't you think it's unfair to continue female foeticide
What makes you think you're the one to decide?
How is it an honour, when it is honour killing ?
Why can't you be the one to understand her feelings?

No , I don't think you can treat me like vermin
Just because I am a woman.

So how about you show us some respect
And your actions , you began  to inspect
And how about you treat us as your equal
I'm pretty sure that is legal

So how about you apologise honestly, it will be forgiven
Oh yeah, that's because I am a woman.
Till today woman all around the world are abused in different ways
How I wish things would change and we would not have to feel scared before stepping outside on our own
Zane2976 Dec 2015
I apologise
For all the hurt I have caused
I am sorry
For all the things I have said
I regret
Thinking that I might come through
I despise myself
For allowing you to believe in me

Forgive me
For how I feel
Forgive me
For pushing you away
I need to protect you
From myself

Nothing more than internal death and destruction
Something so pure would only succumb to my corruption
A poison seeps though my pores
Eroding away that which is closest

Don't touch me
Lest you catch my disease
Don't believe me
A veil of deception clothes my words

As the autumn sun shines
I wilt away
Powerless against the evil
Blinded by darkness' entirety



In the darkness the horrors swarm before my eyes
In the darkness the terror plays on my mind
In the darkness the tendrils weave themselves upon me
In the darkness I scream unheard

In the darkness they remove my flesh
In the darkness they tear out strands of my hair
In the darkness they burn away my soles
In the darkness I betray myself

In the darkness my body tears apart
In the darkness my pain consumes me
In the darkness my trust was broken
In the darkness I will never heal

In the darkness it dissolved my soul
In the darkness it stole my worth
In the darkness it befouled my body
In the darkness I lost myself
Candy Noire Aug 2014
My mind is full of tirades
A tempest fills my brain
I've lost a part of myself in love before
How gullible I've been.
Would you rather I pour my heart out?
Spill my passion let me bleed?
I apologise. **** myself in front of your eyes.
Take off my mask so you can see where my vulnerability lies.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
ᗩIᑎᕼᗩᖇᗩ
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Ainhara is standing in her Queen's room,
staring at the door that leads to
her chamber
'My Lady...' she thinks worried before
looking at her reflection. Her mistress had
surprised her a gift of a finely made dress
of rose-silk, making her a flowing vision
in blue.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The dress is suitable for the bright and
hot morning, light, airy and delicate
with one shoulder that is heavily beaded
with peacock feathers; the slit reveals
her slender legs, the hip appliqued with
the white lilies of her Queen's Kingdom,
and simple flat shoes.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Her fiery locks are pinned into her usual
bun. It is then that she hears a gentle
knock on the door which she approaches
and opens.
"Did you not hear the command of the
Queen Mother?" Ainhara gently hisses,
"Queen Lyn is not to be disturbe-"
"I know, Lady Ainhara, I apologise,"
a guard whispers as Ainhara stands in
the hallway.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"How is Queen Lyn?"
'Drained and exhausted. She has not slept
well in three days...
"The Queen is very busy.
She is determined to complete the tasks set to
her." Ainhara sighs. "Esshi is overseeing her
meals currently. Did her mother not say all
matters of state should be brought to her?"
"Yes she did, but the shipments are set
to arrive today. And she said that once
they arrive, I am to notify you.
They have made way to the Western
Entrance."

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"I see. Well, let us see to it."
"Yes," The guard bows and leads the
way with Ainhara at his heels.
As she passes the open stain-glassed
windows, the cool breeze hit her,
making her dress flutter behind her
and the beadery shine and glitter.
Part one of the Masked Bard free-verse! ^-^
This one is going to be told more so in my handmaidens' POV.
Part two will be out tomorrow!
Lyn ***
Enas Sep 2019
I am so sorry.

For every time I hurt you..

For every cruel word I’ve ever said to you..

For not seeing what you needed most..

For not being kind to you as much as everyone else..

For every tear you have wasted..

For every time I stepped on your heart..

For every time I didn’t believe in you..

For every time I didn’t listen to you.

I am so sorry.

For ripping you apart..

For destroying the beautiful things in you..

For always making you pay the price..

And I apologise for all the wrongdoings I caused you!

Forgive this fallible human that is you.

I am so sorry.
This is our blitz, puppydog, I said,
dragging him away from the whizzbangs
echoing green and purple off shopfronts.

My Chuchundra scuttled ground-bellied
from fallen ******* bags spilling guts
like casualties of war

and hoodlums tremendous in commando gear
who set off peonies and chrysanthemums
before charging triumphant down alleyways.

We go home.  I’m happy to leave these heroes
the soda from the Catherine wheels,
and the drizzle, for which London has yet to apologise.
Crucifix Feb 2015
Why are my heroes less real than yours? I'm so **** sick of that stupid cliche "cops and soldiers, and firefighters up up and away." None of them were there for me in any way.
I don't give a crap if you won't follow or if I never see a "like" or a "favorite" again.
God almighty couldn't stop my pen.
So why are my heroes less real then yours?
Isn't god just as real as mine?
So shut the hell up and get back in line.
you know who was there the day I couldn't stand.
Not your heroes playing wars in the sand.
Not your cops, who were off killing kids.
No fire here, turn a deaf ear.
The ones who were there for me on that day. Was a hero in red with horns on his head. A man all in black who dressed like a bat. A solider that stood for what a nation aspires. And a immigrant from who knows where.
They taught me my morals from birth this I swear. They taught me right. They taught me wrong. I don't give a **** if you think I'm wrong.
I will write comics as bright as the sun. I will save worlds with words. I won't apologise, don't insult the fire in my eyes.
I've never questioned to what you aspired. I never met your heroes before but I respect the story's of yours in the war. Of cops who helped kids who didn't have a dime, of firefighters saving people in time.
so leave mine alone they saved plenty they have. Even if its only the life of a depressed lonely lad.
Never underestimate the power of words and story's. They tell us more than you think.
Damian Murphy Nov 2016
They say pride comes before a fall
Which I do not believe at all,
For how would we progress unless
We can take pride in our success?
'Tis pride in success I believe
That motivates us to achieve.
So whether they be big or small
Celebrate your achievements all!
Take pride in any job well done
And apologise to no one!
So as much as this Drama does persist
Your Prisoned Warning tugs at my Cool Shirt
Asking me to take Prudence and desist
In bashing Silence to where it would hurt
Now engraved in Copper I will make Clear:
For all my Writ Plagues I Apologise,
Deep in use plug Buds to that Trumpet's Ear
If Empathy a Letter in disguise
This my Friend's Spy; Deploy to high pursuit
Waving that Placard in belated claim
Which tastes folly less on a nutty boot
And Reprimand stamped on his just Remain.
Such I learned that Friendship's Best takes no Force
I Follow my Heart; Now you Follow yours.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Le Lotus Aug 2014
I don't get it
What the actual ******* want from me

Talk! Say it!
You don't have to ignore me
You don't have to talk sarcasticly
Be true! Make it clear!

So I do understand
The actual thing you want from me
If I did wrong so I can apologise
If I am behaving bad so I can improvise

But don't ignore me
Dont make me feel useless
I have heart too
I have feelings

But sometimes this silly mind of mine can be tactless
It can be hard for me to catch up on things if you did't tell
Because what seems right to me might seems wrong to you
So say it! Talk!
I am a human too
I am not perfect.
I am not blind. I can see you are mad. But I am tactless. So talk! So I know.
Press,
Hammer,
String,
Vibrate,
Hear,
Press again,
Wait for mistake,
Prepare for complaints,
Apologise,
Apply mute,
Press softer,
Hammer,
String,
Vibrations muffled,
No resonance,
No sustain,
The keys just as solid,
Still heavy,
Less inviting,
Forced away,
Stand,
Close lid,
Turn,
Leave.
g Jul 2013
You spirit, you alcoholic, you drunken mess, fermented, broken down inside yourself; your molecules attach to my brain cells and start work, and I only drink to forget her now,
and the six months I only allowed you three-figure counted-calorie days.
I am sorry
for those weeks I refused to associate you with my name
until you were all collarbones and ribs like stairs to walk upon and sharp elbows
to push everyone else away.
I etched my lack of hunger into my skin for everyone to see but you told me differently
until I taught myself to listen.
I am sorry for the photo albums strewn underneath my clothes
which cause apologies every time I shed these white t-shirt uniforms,
I guess neither of us were thinking straight at the time.
Others assume I am looking for a nighttime sympathy vote
like someone else's hands could ever make any of this any better.
Sorry for putting you through those too-tight YouTube videos,
the sped up heartbeat at the mention of an ace bandage,
I apologise for ignoring you when I realised that this chest was just too girly
to ever justify attempting to hide.
I am sorry that I ever thought I would feel more at home in you if you were a guy.
I shouldn't have apologised for you all those times
like being a woman was ever your fault.
I know that it was wrong to punish you for entering double figured clothes sizes,
"it's just a number baby" and that ain't anything to be ashamed of.
If you were still a size eight you wouldn't look like branches wrapping around yourself
like an infinity symbol, it's kind of ironic really,
the way you curve under these clothes for such a lined little number,
then pretend because your legs know each other that your frame has something to be sorry for?!
How could I ever think because you held something as important as my brain
I could ever subject you to something as minuscule as a goal weight?
Your carbon comes from the stars and they are as beautiful as it gets,
and you, are so kind to me.
I punish you for never hitting five foot
when it was my own nicotine mistakes and mystery genetics that caused
this obsession with tall, and legs,
and why I question every day if I have an inferiority complex
because people assume I am up to seven years younger than my age.
I am sorry for the envy when I see those sugar cane girls walk past,
as if having more leg could make me any more sweet.
I am sorry that he thought I was more than your flesh and bones,
and I subjected myself to it
like a boy was what we needed to make us better
I know now that we were both so wrong.
But when the tangled 'I love you' got stuck in my throat you were the only thing left there,
and we were so young, you taught me how to choke back my words,
but I know now why you just weren't that into him.
And they sure told me:
"You pathetic excuse for a girl for falling into that,
you were so young didn't anybody ever tell you
he just wanted you to feel something?
Turned sour when you ended it,
you spent all those nights wasting your breath.
Why are you so confused?
You punish yourself when you knew this was all your fault,
you drag your broken body like she was anything to do with this,
you know why you're so small,
you stunted her out of any dream of height and
legs like envy
and 5'5" at a push they told you
but you wouldn't let yourself grow.
Why aren't you honest you've lost all of your friends,
why are you blaming this all on your body?
burying secrets like bones under your skin and flesh
that makes you a dog. You smell like dirt.
You smell like dirt and smoke and wasted breaths.
Like wasted breaths and all those skipped meals are coming back to you now,
you're still fat.
Fat like you can't carry yourself,
you can't carry your emotions any more,
they are draining off the ploughed chest she left you with
give them up,
dig them up,
cut them out like they can't stay inside anymore.
Stop trying to remove yourself from your own body like you
could ever scratch yourself out,
like she was something that ever belonged to you,
then send an apology to your flesh and bones,
oh, give it up you hypocrite nobody's falling for your ****."
So I tell her:
"I still see beauty in the way you move in that mirror"
and so I write her an apology letter.
grace beadle 2013
-this is mainly an observation
Fireflies Jun 2017
Why did I choose not to do it?
I could have taken the easy way out.
I could have lied and faked a smile.
We could have gone anywhere together.
But I didn't want to go anywhere I wanted to go somewhere.
Maybe that's why I didn't do it.
I didn't apologise.
I did not want to be there, that somewhere, no.
I didn't want to be there with you.
Again broken af. words just flow when you can't feel anymore amirite.

— The End —