"apologising" poems
I have always liked,
Defiant Africans,
Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta,
Martin Luther King,
Groovy black men,
******* with attitude,
But they intimidate me,
Black men.
Freedom fighters,
Bar room brawlers,
And I rise from sleep,
Sheened in sweat,
Running away,
Scribbling my number,
On scraps of paper,
On foreheads and trousers,
On outstretched palms,
And I’m breathing heavily,
Feeling stained,
Because,
That one there,
The white man in Navy uniform,
With hair on his *****
I know him,
-conquistador-
He smells of garlic and grease,
And my black friends call me,
****** ***** *****
Will he take the lion tooth offered,
Will he make the tribal dance?
-I can teach him to love the earth,
Teach him to plant his feet in, deep-
I ********** from sleep, supported
By thick, colonial, muscle.
I am forging steel,
Industrial iron,
I am engineering a white lover
Beneath the sheets, whilst
Apologising to freedom fighters,
Who call me ****** ***** *****
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
I just feel so much guilt,
My words and actions built,
I know, what I did was wrong,
Tried to avoid it and be strong.
Following me has been the truth,
It was hurting like a tooth.
A second more, I could not deny,
Not apologising was a lie.
I'm sorry, from deep inside,
Clearly guilty, my hands are tied.
It was obviously, all my fault,
I have opened my inner vault.
I'm really sorry for my recent actions,
Selfishly searching for your reactions.
What I did wasn't kin,
I don't know what got into my mind.
Something wrong with my psychology,
From my heart I bring this apology.
I know there are no valid excuses,
Negative feelings arguments produces.
I'm really sorry, I truly care,
What I did was completely unfair,
Hope you forgive me over time,
I feel awful about my crime.
Please give me a chance to explain,
What I did was completely vain.
It was clearly way beyond rude,
Completely stupid, I must conclude.
I used words, I did not mean,
I need to stop-acting fifteen.
My actions and words, simply not right,
I'm sorry for my anger and spite.
Please give me a chance to explain,
There must be something wrong with my brain.
My emotions, I must learn to control,
And never hurt you, this is my goal.
I look in the mirror, feel so much shame.
It was my fault, I deserve all the blame.
Just don't know what I was thinking,
With all this shame, I feel like I'm sinking.
All the consequences, I completely deserve,
Can't imagine, where I found the nerve,
I just feel like the biggest fool,
What I did, was simply not cool.
Your forgiveness, I earnestly plead,
Without it, my heart won't be freed.
Please forgive me, I miss you so much,
Beautiful voice and your tender touch.
I agree, I was wrong,
Wish I could, sing a song,
I know you're are mad,
What I did was bad.
Nothing about it, I'm proud,
I was trying to impress the crowd.
Next time I should really thing,
Maybe even see a shrink
What I'm trying to say,
My love for you grow everyday.
We should never fight,
I need to hold you every night.
I've been lucky to have a girl like you,
I'm sorry if you only knew.
Feel so bad, for being so rude,
I'm sorry for messing up your mood.
I promise to treat you like a Queen,
I'm sorry for being so mean.
If only somehow, I could make things better,
This poem's from my heart, not just a letter.
Your inner and outer beauty amaze,
I'm sorry, for my crazy phase.
I wish to give you my entire heart,
Please forgive me, we could make new start.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
I try too hard to give everything and leave my needs unspoken
Because I'm scared of stepping on toes
It becomes a cycle of me apologising
If I choose to speak up
So walk over me
Because I tried to hold you up and fell underneath you.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
thirteen days left of summer
i am thirteen thirsty
for genuinity today
served me nothing i am
hungry to be eighteen
in grass that is chrome green
feeling ***** but feeling clean &
not apologising for it
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 5:56 PM UTC
I wish I were permanently drunk and I wish I didn't wish that.
I wish I were permanently hair flying mouth smiling loud talking proud walking drunk
in the middle of the day
replace the need to say
I'm sorry I mean thank you I mean please don't hate me I mean you can hate me but tell me if you hate me don't pretend to be my friend and
I wish I were permanently drunk without the drink
without the sharp taste that hits the back of my throat like the anxiety which comes with showing that I care
without the down it if you dare
without the fall without the crawl without the fumbling in stalls
I think you might have gotten the idea by now but just incase I'll tell you anyway
when I say
I wish I were permanently drunk
I mean
I wish I were permanently in love with myself.
I wish I were hands on hips and mouth on lips and a full chest and my absolute best
and
I wish I could move down a corridor without wincing
wish I could speak without convincing
myself and you and her and him and them
to stay.
I wish I were okay.
what did I just say?
I'm fine.
Ok but this poem was not supposed to rhyme.
I wish I were permanently drunk
or
rather
I wish I saw myself the way I stare at forests of green
I wish I could make myself beam
rather it is
the girl on the bus with the really pretty eyes
and
the poets with their words and their desperate tiny cries
and
I wish I looked at myself and saw sunflowers blooming from the broken parts of my chest
and
I wish I would just stop for a moment and rest
and
I wish I were permanently drunk
in the middle of the day
on nothing but self love and self esteem and self self self
scream it like I'm standing on the edge of a pier for the whole world to hear
I wish I could stop apologising for my existence
well, you know, the universe would shout back,
you'll get there.
It might just take a little persistence.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
out of arms
out of lungs
out of head
it’s an effort to be dragged
catch beneath the lock
where i tore my lid three years ago
each descent returning
spit from the cavernous body of marx
an empire of glass
the wretched of centre city
mop the open wound of 24/7 affairs
*** and grease stained upholstery
apologising for everyone else's mess
it’s blasé-faire
it’s pro-choice
corporate megaphone through the airwaves
distilled into the perfect idiot subject
enjoy life
enjoy life
enjoy life
enjoy life
enjoy life :)
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
Kettle's boiling,
Milk's spoiling,
Toast's burning,
Voices raising,
Door's slamming,
Sun's rising,
Car's failing
People running,
Shops opening,
Lighter's lighting,
Cigarette's smoking,
Started coughing,
The end's nearing,
Vision darkening,
Pupils dilating,
Brain's starving.
Casket dropping,
Widow's mourning.
Apologising.
Regretting.
Grieving.
Weeping.
Last breakfast of the morning,
Toast burning,
Wife shouting,
Not knowing,
He's slowly dying.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
It had been a while
Even tho no tears were shed
I could feel it was a wound tt would possibly leave a huge scar
I had no bad intentions when i said it
I had no ill meaning when i did it
I did it out the pure feeling of longing
Out of the innocent feeling of yearning
If i had to mke an apology
I would apologising for loving a woman like a lil girl
It was all love at first
And that love kept growing n spiraling out of control
Everytime my hrt beat ...... i swear i could feel it ...... as if its about to break through the cage
Everytime i put my hand on my chest it was as if im trying to calm a mad dog down
A feeling i loved n hated
Cause Everytime it reminded me of how deep it was
How deep the wound was gonn be
As i kept replaying the worst case scenario in my head
And making more rush decisions
In a sad attempt to protect my heart
In the end it didn't hurt
At least not at the moment
But the longer i sat there the more i could feel the wound opening
As if its about to rip my hrt in 2
I clucthed at my chest
Held on for dear life
The laughter echoed in the empty starry nyt
Reminesce of a broken heart,
No.......broken mind
As i sat there feeling regret from the word protect your heart.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC
I have apologies
for every single person
that I've ever wronged,
intentionally or not.
They ranged from the simplest
'sorry' to that stranger whose coffee I spilt,
to a three volume text of
all my emotions and regrets
where 'sorry' doesn't cut it,
but it's all I've left to say
to ease the guilt.
Except I don't know
where to start,
There are far too
many IOUs
and not enough time
but you're telling me,
"start by apologising
to your very own body,
your mind and your heart"
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
You are not apologising because you are sorry
You are not apologising to make amends
You are apologising to me
Because I am big
And powerful
And scary
You are not apologising
You are protecting yourself
I don't care for what you did
I don't care
I just wish
You were honest
There is no point in phony apologies
They don't mean anything
I forgive you-
As is my custom
But it's not because of your dishonest words
It's because I am big
And powerful
And scary
And forgiving
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
The way I'm going now,
I'd probably crash into your living room:
tearing apart the art-deco set up
with my red car,
mashing art and steel into a subculture
of hate, and the unrequitedness of love.
Baby,
I'm rocketfuel and bedding-
I'm churning up the cotton into kindling
and I'm burning so bright
I don't think I'll be able to top this.
I won't be able to top this.
I'm swallowing air and the sea,
the sea can wait a little while,
I'm yelling so hard at the waves my
throat has more salt than your tears,
listen
you don't need conch shells to hear
me pleading for you; strumming six songs a second
and wailing into a chorus of
"I'm sorry" and "I love you";
it almost sounds like
I'm apologising.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
You're breaking on your camera hand. Haven't got a leg to stand on.
You tell me
you're making me a colour with your shorthand.
Dropping parts of your mind behind you and I can't pick them up, I can't follow you round anymore.
Kid, you're shaking on the stage again
explain that you can't write this down anymore
and that everything inside your head is a storm.
And I just can't tell you.
I don't have the guts to tell you
that I still smell him on my hair on days when I don't think about you now.
But I can't tell you what I'm thinking
like how you're so wrapped up in your own broken strings that you're not getting me right anymore.
You're not getting me right anymore.
These things I lost down in my chest:
how you made this body your chalkboard fourteen days before we even spoke,
and I don't know what you're leaving with. I can't find the words to leave you with.
Tornado hands. Texas lungs. How this world made you a storyline.
You're an underage drunk on a school night.
Stop dropping yourself I can't hold you up anymore.
This is not a hold up.
This is you forgetting to ask about yourself.
Here are all the letters I never sent you
take them out of me, stop making me write you down I can't write you down anymore please scratch yourself out.
You once asked me if I felt it when you woke up in the middle of the night across all those miles, I told you:
you're a church bell in a hurricane
stuck under all the folded over pages I left you with, and I'm leaving you on a Sunday,
just like all those characters you left sawn off.
And I just want to ask you how many times I have to break myself apart before I piece back whole, and I realise
that we've got nothing left going for us anymore.
Your chipped teeth under my tongue telling me "stop apologising for yourself,"
ripping the keys off a typewriter just take everything I've got.
You can have my apologies love.
You can have my best friend sitting on the tracks.
You can take me whole, take me home.
You're a boarded window, nothing disclosed,
"get away from me".
Candlelight through the gaps on a Saturday night in December.
We're home alone again.
Home alone again.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
I twist and turn in my bed
I change the sheets
I change the pillows
I close the windows
I glance at the moon
I try listening to some soothing music
I close my eyes and start counting
I even try dreaming
I finally pop a pill
But no matter what I do tonight...
...It simply won't work
I've finally surrendered and awoken to this cruel realization that sleep is determined to desert me Tonite and by the looks of it(well it's around 4am)..I'd say it's been an absolute beat down for me...
Sleep it seems is upset with me at the moment
And truth be told...i have mistreated her on many occasions
So...Looks like its gonna take a fair amount of apologising and persuading to pacify her
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
Met her on a rainy day
Day, that changed my life
Walking to my bus stop
With my umbrella open
Waiting for my bus to come
That happened in a second
Clashing with someone's
Umbrella of rainbow colour
Putting my head out
Looking for the owner
Twirled a typhoon above
Up above my head
A moon in a sky blue Saree
Came out of her umbrella
Turning to me with a smile
Of shining diamond tooth
Her eyes blinking like
Fishes swimming in a sea
Opening her mouth like
A singing of a cuckoo
Apologising with a sorry
Before I speak a word out
Of my unconsciousness
Left behind only rain and me!
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're 'just friends'.
There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
I don't believe in God
I'm sorry
I'm not actually apologising
for the fact it's just what I've been conditioned
to say by society
Sorry?
Don't get me wrong
I was shackled as a child
to Sunday school after Chuch
and my informative
young woman years were left dead
by Girls Brigade
didn't make me less wild
Mother was Presbyterian
Father was Methodist
(You don't think I was messed up by this?)
Christened as Chuch of England
Raised as a Baptist
I think, all of the above
fall under 'Christianity'
but I'm not sure of this
So many secular emotions
under one umbrella
I'd bet, someone's gonna get wet
Then there is Islam and Hinduism
Sikhism and Judeaism
and spiritual beliefs like
Bhuddism and Druidism
How do all those different Gods compete
for our favour? To get us to lay down
as followers, to be the mat for their precious feet?
It would have to be a pretty mean feat!
I imagine them as Gladiators
fighting for the right for the masses to cheer
Winner takes all but, Losers get the non believers
What do you think the Ancient Gods
think of their petty squabbling?
The Eygyptians, the Greeks?
who simply stated humans
were to worship them religiously
and it was done, because they can
They seemed more fierce to me
sitting on Mt Olympus and coming down
occasionally, at least they had a face
What's been touted today to the human race?
I don't know enough about Religion
to make choice or want to learn
I married a Roman Catholic
that opened a whole new can of worms
An Irish Roman Catholic
Yeah, I see you nodding your heads
Suicidal, I think is the term
So I decided my children would not
be burdened by my religious ineptitude
They can choose their own beliefs
for I surely won't intrude
on their individual right to make
a decision based on their own feelings
I know I'm probably wrong, I just want
them to believe in something
Anything that makes their day better,
that helps them sleep at night
I won't choose their religion for them
I don't think that's right
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
i’m sorry, i’m so sorry
please don’t worry
please don’t worry
it isn’t very much at all
except:
i’m blue-
faced with apologies
and choked-up girl pathology
"i think i’m gonna hurl"
i scream, and taste
another “sorry”,
pressed like flowers,
blossomed in my throat.
speak softer, beg forgiveness,
my voice is not my business:
cut my tongue out,
make me kissable,
more easily dismissible
an echoing abyss for you to fill
with hot air, coffee breath
and sound bites
i don’t **** around,
i bite
and scratch and pound and shriek —
you will be sorry when i speak
you’re gonna look pathetic,
you’re emetic, here’s your drinks back
down your suit
i feel frenetic
i will puke, i ******* swear it,
if you call me unapologetic
like a compliment again.
not apologising
for myself
is women’s studies 101,
and i am done
with what a sorry state
you left my sisters in.
paternalistic praises
of our struggle for assertion
and insertion of your ego
into conversations
you were not invited to
is not the way to ladies’ hearts, though
we know how to get to yours:
open ribs, second ***** to the left
and straight on til morning
some things aren’t about you, little boy,
put up, grow up, shut up:
get your tongue out of my mouth.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
In my lack of sleep
I peed on a toilet seat
That was not the worst though
Because as the saying goes
You surely reap what you sow
And I sowed a bad seed,
I sowed hatred from the love
That a girl showed me.
I made a puddle of ***
A muddled up mess
And I must confess
I've finally learnt of regret.
No matter how much you wipe it off
You'd hang your head in shame
Knowing that you let a droplet of ***
Land on what was a pristine toilet seat.
So you stand there apologising
Realising no matter how much you do
The toilet seat will never take you back.
So you hold your heart
Pretend it's not shaking
Pretend it's not breaking
And slowly march on.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
faint voices crackled, fourty-five minutes tied up,
I had heard the radio with windows open,
the words melting through copper alloys,
the dreams all turning to dust,
left these thoughts until last, dusk eyelid flicker, and...
and now I'm all spent
and can't keep these lines of narrow survival held up anymore,
and everyone's apologising,
and the rain, just waiting to fall, hangs on stagnant breeze.
so, we could wait around, or get up and run right now:
full eyes drinking the harvest moon's glow,
secondhand stories told poorly at best,
killing time until
intoxication
burns old ghosts,
and I'm still burning down with each breath of wind,
each charcoal fragment snaking into alveoli,
each compromised lie, illumination,
reaches so far within,
dragging out moments between heartbeats, just like you.
*just
like
you*
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:58 AM UTC
We fight.
We always fight.
And it always ends in me leaving,
Me yelling,
me slamming the door,
me crying.
And I hate that I'm so hard to deal with,
and I'm sorry...
I yell.
I always yell.
And it always ends up in you pleading,
you crying,
you apologising,
you shouting.
And I hate it when you cry,
and I'm sorry...
You try.
You always try.
And it always ends with us crying,
us hugging,
us forgiving
us talking.
And I hate that it takes so long for me to say;
'I'm sorry.'
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
a week before my birthday i told you i was turning sixteen and i invited you to my party that saturday night but here we are a month later and i asked you 'why didn't you say happy birthday to me' and you were distraught and genuine when you asked 'what when was it?', the answer you should have known, you used to know because we found out this fact about each other at 5am last october, the answer 'the 14th of june' and your lame 'i didn't know!' and the coincidence is the clock just ticked 12am and now it's the 14th of july and you're apologising over and over for not making the worst birthday ever any better.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Those lights
that guide you home and ignite your bones
are
something inherently valuable
but
being a misfit
has been told you
that you tend to be wrong
It also told you
that those lights never easy to find
but
they never gets lost
once they're found
Now
they are
the one that got away.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 7:29 AM UTC