"sorries" poems
The reason why I apologize
So profusely over the tiniest of things
Is because I always feel as though
I am a bother and annoyance so
I want the person to be aware that
I am truly sorry for the mishap
I may have brought about or the wrong words that may have come out of my mouth
Because in the past I had to apologize again and again
A million sorries I must have said
Just to get the point across
Just to assuage the anger I unintentionally caused
I apologize repeatedly
Because I fear not being taken seriously
When I say sorry I mean it with all of my heart
I apologize even when people say I am not at fault
Because in the past I was always the one guilty
I was always in the wrong
Because when that rage came up and rolled along
It rolled right over me
And so I said sorry
I said sorry to the steamroller for being in its way
And for the broken bones and bruises on my heart that I carried for days
I apologize for apologizing
Because I know I must sound so repetitive and annoying
But I feel as though I can't apologize enough
To make up for and cover up
Whatever sin I may have committed against the one I am apologizing to
Because when you say it’s okay I always fear it’s not true
Because in the past those hiccups and bumps
That weren't even my fault were held against me for months
No matter the amount of times I said sorry and meant it
And the number of times I tried to fix
The mangled mess that wasn't mine but that I was still apologizing for
It was like going to war
But I waged it and gave my best effort
To stitch and sew up the jagged cuts
Of long angry nights and an alcohol filled gut
But failed and then apologized when the seams ripped and tore
Because no matter what I did was going to restore
What used to be
Or repair the damage that happened before me
And so I am sorry for that
That I couldn't make it better because I lacked
Whatever it was you were looking for
But that constant state of feeling guilty is what sent me out the door
And I am free of that weight now
But I still feel the need to say sorry for every little mistake now
Thanks to you I sound like a record stuck on repeat
So I’m sorry that I say sorry too much
But I never know when enough sorries are enough
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
It cannot be described
only imbibed
through many sorrows
and sorries
until the pain
recedes to numbness
your compass
points to death
& you see the peace it brings
the silence
the darkness
you make your mind up
maybe not today
or tomorrow
but you know
you're going to die by your own hand
& you feel
just a brief
fleeting
happiness
...
that's the sound of suicide
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.
When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.
He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.
He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 12:33 PM UTC
I found a baby doll
3 days later
I cradled her in my arms
Careful not to wake her
She was but one head bigger
Than my own perfect doll
When she was alive
I buried her in a shoebox
And said my goodbyes
I said my sorries
And dried my eyes
But they never stopped leaking
And she never stopped sleeping
No more is she alive.
In the same strong blanket
I wore as a babe
She'll rest in peace in pieces
Inside that grave
For I am weak
But she is brave
And I'll never know
The love I never gave
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.
When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.
He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries, here comes
the plow.
He began to see
the pattern of life.
There are monsters
that walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 12:53 PM UTC
skipped the chapters in the book of love
you on page one
swang from the rafters with the morning dove
rise the evening sun
my letters were bolded
yours were second best to none
more italics and stressed sentences
you a peaceful minded friend
more than previous pronoun
promised to the end
you on stages of laughter
agreement to disagree
me, i went past the laughter
straight fits of arguing
apologies and sorries
lead me into these trees
promise not to skip the page without you next to me
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
I am selling away these board games,
The Sorries, the Troubles, and the Twisters
On which I struggled competitively with you.
My yard sale stifles the lawn,
Pours over my patio and infiltrates my porch swing.
I am selling each game piece, each memory,
Each pair of dice and their two-sided arguments.
They are thrown from my mind once they are carried
Away by strangers who thought them a bargain.
I am selling our immature conflicts,
The jail in my Monopoly
And the alarm clock in Don’t Wake Daddy.
Even Candy Land for me is age appropriate no longer,
As you continue to barely meet its mental requirements –
“for ages 3 and up.”
So I am selling away these amusements
Stacked firmly upon cheap plastic tables,
Feeding my palms with the richness of your absence.
Perhaps your game of Life will entertain one of my buyers,
Taking your cardboard words of wisdom
With an appreciation that I no longer have.
I wish them luck with their future mind-Scrabble,
As their pursuits will be a Risk yet unknown.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
a drunken **** head knocking my door
a glimpse through my window my eyes saw more
a bald headed hunk covered in ink
heart beating so fast i couldnt think.
a drunken **** head coming inside
that wolvo accent helping me to decide
a kiss to my lips sealing my fate
an overnight stay by now it was too late.
two weeks of pure bliss passed so fast
gossiping folk saying we wouldnt last
soon there will be violence i heard them say
hiding their heads and shuffling away.
so what if hes commited violence before
hes with me now and i mean more
hes always assured me that hed never hurt me
his past is his past and that they will soon see.
friends in for drinks and that was the first time
me pulling faces getting ****** on red wine
but the ******* he saw me a reflection in glass
a punch to my nose i fell on my ****
apologies kisses sorries never ending
me knowing it wont happen again or pretending
waking in the mornings treading on eggshells
me with experiance i should have known so well.
but do we learn women like us
hearing their words and giving our trust
thinking things will get better in time
when do we stop and draw a line.
broken cheek bones two black eyes
split open lips ****** thighs
bruises covering the surface skin
enternal bruising hiding within.
pregnant with your gorgeous son
look at what ive now become
trapped indoors head hangs in shame
its not my fault its you whos to blame.
all i done wrong was to show you love
you the man needed boxing gloves
to keep me tame and where you wanted me
under control to prove your credibility.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
Fairytales are stories that never finished. That was the last thing I said to you as I walked away. Our story had an ending. An ending like a car crash. Like knowing the train is coming but it felt more comforting to stay parked on those tracks. Sifting my fingers threw your hair as you looked up at the stars and I just couldn't seem to look away from you.
I smiled as you slept and we laid under the stars that night. You would soon tell me that the weekend you went out with your friends you made a huge mistake. I imagined burning buildings and sirens. You told me another man had explored your body. I imagined you inside of the burning building.
I remember the hours after like smoke filling my lungs. You pleaded your love for me and the amount of sorries said were like cutting through glass. You had told me "you're my fairytale ending!" As I walked away and imagined that burning building getting ready to collapse, I tell you, fairytales are stories that never finished.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
its so what if i hate you
i still want you to take care
out of all fake love brought us
i just miss the way you stare
at me like you think ill stare back
now its impossible for you to do that
its hardest when i breathe out
all of the air from my lungs
while clinging to the bottom
of this lake trying hard to die from
either this pressure or whatever
this death brings first to measure
how much water i can keep in my lungs
its brought me nothing now
holding onto love like life
its so simple living now
life like the steady breeze
i am coming out of the water
a new man for living now
they said i can choose
anywhere i want to haunt
but i chose the same spot
where i used to kiss you
when i would walk you home
now every visitor that we get
gets this strange feeling
that i never had. of not being alone.
babe i didnt dance for reckoning.
i chanted for it and with my brethren
at the time: hand in hand on the hill
tasting carnal lust for the first night
we kissed to romance andto redwine
smoking out of the finest rosemary and most potent tyne
i wish i could dream of my new love
because i found a brand new rose
and i got her good like the gods
they thought i deserve it i would
**** it up on the first time it came
to town because my baby well
she dont want me right now.
i just dream of you or less scary things maybe a funeral for two.
she says i scare her well just as well
i only have seven years
to live and die on this planet of hell
4 when i go to heaven. 777
i aint taking any angels with me
and its just as well 666
but imagine one could save me
an unstoppable redemption
i appreciate beauty in grandeur
divinity but yet i am banned in heaven - life is subliminal
i could be a blade for these seven
years maybe even for the Lord himself
would sin be outweighed by all of that death
and that when i sit in purgatory
waiting to meet my makers
i got the chance to fill out an application
just like for one of my regular day jobs
it said apply to do it all over again
there would be only happiness
guilt free or worries negativities
and sorries. well BabyGirl i wouldnt
i would only start anew
and be different than you saw me
depending on how i saw you
from your video tape
depending on the look on your face
the nights i held you in our firey embrace
and determine if that was just
****
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
I am the poison ivy coiled around her feet
Rendering her motionless and helpless
With lesions covering her body
She loves me violently and without limitation
Offers herself as sacrifice
In the hope of seeking my emancipation
Succumbed to the disorder, once again
My area of expertise
Mutterings of my meaningless sorries evaporate in the air
My head stays bowed
Just a relapse away from my demise
Immersed in water
Caught in the cruel unrelenting undertow
The weight of my burdens dragging me down
Sinking now
Suffocating
Suffoca……
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
I think love is wonderful.
When I imagine it, I see fingers intertwined.
Cuddles on the couch.
I see two people opening themselves up fully to one another—
and not running away from what they find.
My version of love is everything that should be...
not what I, as a little girl, have seen.
My version of love holds no place for control.
No room for lies dripping in sugar.
In my version of love, you hold each other up.
You make each other better,
and everything feels lighter when you're together.
Because, hey—
nothing says "I don't love you" like screaming words behind closed doors.
Like the emptiness of countless sorries.
Like trying not to set a person off
who is supposed to be your "significant other."
My love is... confusion.
I don't know if I can catch feelings.
My butterfly-catching net is frayed and torn,
so they just keep flying away.
It seems so easy and natural for them...
I just wish I knew for sure.
Could love ever be in the air?
Or is friendship truly where the line ends?
I've been so focused on self-love and self-growth
that I've not been able to see beyond me.
When I try,
there is only emptiness—
and more questions.
What I want to know is this:
Why can't me, myself and I be enough?
Why does everyone I meet
see me as incomplete
without a man or woman on my arm?
I know I love my things,
my music and my art.
Tisane, quiet contemplation,
and poetry.
Maybe the loves I've seen
have left my heart scattered.
Maybe The One is still out there...
but maybe they just aren't.
Kissing is weird.
*** is weird.
It's almost always the last thing on my mind—
it's just not something that I crave.
Let alone trying to get someone
to like me enough
to even want to do those things with me—
seems like so much EFFORT.
...is being alone really so bad?
Maybe I'm not built for romance,
but GODS does it seem wonderful...
I just don't know if that kind of love is for me.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 7:47 PM UTC
this is not an apology
I’m sick of saying “sorry”
when I take my clothes off for you
my body is beautiful
even if you never said so
I’m sick of saying “sorry”
for knocking back the bottles
harder than you knocked me around
this is not an apology
I don’t owe you anything
hell I never did
I’m sick of the sorries
because my lips were too slow
my tongue too fast
my hands never met the speed of your measure
the tick tick tick of your metronome
I’m not sorry for walking away
when this was only ever one sided
this is not an apology
and I am glad you’re gone
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 6:06 AM UTC
Ink
Ink is permanent
You can scratch and cross something out as much as you want
It's just a cover
You still know what's written there is forever
It's like saying something and instantly wanting to shove the words back in your mouth
Rewind the moment, then start over
Can't do that, those words are stuck, forever said
Forever remembered
You'll feel the guilt seep through your veins immediately
A million sorries will come gushing out of your mouth
You'll stumble over your words trying to take back the meaning of your original thought
But, if you said it, and they heard it... Doesn't matter if "it's not how you meant it."
The perception has made it's mark
Sometimes with devastating results
Promises of yesterday...
Can forever haunt your tomorrow
Why do we make promises we're not sure can be kept?
Are we all just full of ****
Get caught up in the moment?
When someone breaks a promise to you, it breaks your heart
Shatters trust
So why do it back?
Spite?
Afraid to say no?
Are the words of confusion coming from in between your ears, or someone's mouth?
It shouldn't be so easy to doubt yourself if you were ever 100% sure
Now life looks like a huge piece of paper with crossed out pen markings, and ink everywhere No escaping it, no matter how deeply you've scribbled over it
I put my pen down and sigh
Glance at the endless row of pens next to it
And all the broken pencils on the floor
Broken erasers, broken thoughts....
I just needed a pencil..
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
love is a word
love is a verb
love is not outspoken afterthoughts
it is laughs
and your hair in the wind
the flowers grazing the
tip of my nose
as I breathe you in;
it is not a melancholy vibration
overtaking my entire being
as if I am not worthy
of the word of love..
but this body made of decaying wood
and rusty bolts is no longer
the home for this lingering hopelessness
I once called home
love is a verb
that could only beg to describe your active
presence.
love is an adjective for the way I feel when you laugh over nothing and our endless sorries.
love is a noun because it is who you are
to me.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
**He sat across the extent,
On the wide room floor**
*She just curled up on bed,
As if he didn’t exist*
**He wanted to speak,
But no words came out**
*Her eyes started to leak,
Although she didn’t dare wipe it up*
**He stood and walked to the door
With hesitance, he almost fell**
*She wanted to stop him
As she heard the **** turned*
**He waited for her,
To ask him to stop**
*But she didn’t
Her conceit was too high*
***Nobody spoke
He left
She wept***
If sorries were that easy to say
Then maybe, they both stayed
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
I think it was when I wiped away the 57th tear
That I realized I was no longer as strong as I thought I was.
That somewhere in between the screams and the apologies
I lost myself again to the repetition of apologetic syllables.
But then I try to tell you,
Show you my epiphany of purpose,
And I remember why I cry and scream.
Why the 'sorries' can never be overdone.
I have lost you, brother.
Somewhere before the burn in the throat
And the screech of the breaks.
Sometime before the 1st tear and still after the 608th.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
... moving along from Chronicles of a Big Fat Yellow Bootay - (as the title)
She skidded
up SO close,
to that big fat bus,
with the big fat yellow bootay
that was in her way,
that no more than
the width of
a hair
stood between
em.
Long rubber tracks
and patches painting the
road.
Her tires worn thin,
she started to grin.
This big fat bus
with his big fat yellow bootay
was heard to say,
"Whoa,
slow down there little
darlin’.
What’s the big rush?
You almost crashed
into me.
And that quite possibly,
most entirely possibly,
could have,
led to
the end,
for both me,
and for you.
And by the way,
exactly where are
you supposed
to be now?
What are you doing
up in this part of town?"
Oops!
Wrong big fat bus
to be running
into.
She mumbled
her sorries,
threw herself
into reverse,
and high-tailed it
out of there
right quickity quick!
her heart was a beatin',
her heart was a poundin’,
THIS was living!
THIS is what it
felt like
to be
ALIVE!
Really alive!
and not driving along at
STINKIN' 25!
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
"Wow youre so lucky"
I wish that were true
"He's smart and attractive"
I wish i we we through
"Aww he's so sweet"
If only you knew
"He's so strong"
You have no clue
Behind closed doors
You'll nver have to see
Those strong hands choking me
Beneath the makeup
Plum stained cheeks
That rest on my face
Such sweet memories
The spots of poison
that surround my body
Ache at your touch
Hearing the pointless sorries
I tried to go,
to turn the other way
But that charming smile
Told me stay
To wait it out
It was just one time
Until came tomorrow
The unfortunate lie
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
when all your sorries blur together
they almost sound
sincere
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
eternal sorrow breeds
eternal apologies
a succinct series of sorries
stretched out for years
i sacrifice my innate interior
to the naifs who know me not
obscurely tarnished & dimmed
one love plagues my skeleton
naivety levitates from relevance
for the new ones have been ruined
& so i repeat:
regurgitating the same remorse
just in a new direction
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
. . . *I diluted myself for you
I spoke less and moaned more
I softened my spirit
I offered up yeses that once would've been no's
I held my tongue between two fingers
And wore pretty pink lace where there once would've been the blackest leather
I put fewer cigarettes between my lips
And instead pressed them together
To keep you from remembering
Why you didn't love me before
I put on an apron
To play my part
I served you smiles on dinner plates
And sipped white wine in place of whiskey
I put hearts in a lunch box
To keep you company through the day
Then mourned who I once was
While you were away
. . . I thought that if I was softer
More feminine
More pure
That you would be kinder
That I would fit better in your arms
That if I didn't talk back
My lips would taste sweeter
That you would listen when I spoke
I thought that if I became weak
We could be strong
That if slaughtered my Independence
And laid it to rest at your feet
That you would want to stroke my hair like you once had
When I stopped standing my ground
In the kitchen where I performed
And let the peanut gallery at the table
Critique my every adjective
Only to curtsey before their taunts
That when doors closed
You would whisper that I had done well
That your heart had space for me again
I thought that maybe if I hid it when I bled
You would leave the whiskey alone and finally come to bed*
. . . ***But instead
I committed a ******
I killed the woman that I loved
I took a spirit and trapped it in a box made of yes dears and I'm sorries
By replacing her combat boots with pointe shoes
And her pride with warm baked cookies
I slit her throat with a knife made of compromises
Chained her ankles to the kitchen table and forced her to dance before lesser beings
I made an arrangement of the wild roses that made up her lips
And left her unprotected without any thorns
Then cut out her tongue and made her watch
in stunned silence
when you trampled through the garden with clumsy careless feet
I murdered the woman that I used to be
Sacrificed everything just to find that you never loved me*** . . .
. . . But fear not, even the goldfish who lies belly up can swim again . . .
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
I would like to say, I have let my hate control me.
No, I don't dislike it. Honestly if I may say, I enjoy it very much.
But I feel bad for being a complete and utter ***** to this girl.
It started with her dating my bestfriend, and then cheating on him.
Everyone thinks she is a poser, but at the same time they act like they are her friends so they can use her. There is no way around it. At all.
But maybe she isn't a poser. Maybe we think this because she is just now going through what we all (my friends and I) went through many years ago. But the way she did it makes her look like an utter poser. And two things I hate with a passion: posers and hicks.
But before all of this her dating my bestfriend, and being a poser thing happened,
I was almost starting to be friends with her. Had NOTHING in common with her, and I liked it.
The only time we actually hung out we went to some guys house, and there were a few people, and every one was talking and laughing, and being loud.
Her and I sat on the floor away from everyone. I liked that.
I think she is a pretty cool girl, and is fun, and pretty out of all of this.
So, in a way, but not entirely I'm saying sorry
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC