Sorry 

There’s a number of reasons why I apologize all the time.

Feelings are like black glass. You can’t always see through them, as though solid, they break easily. I’m so aware of this, that I cringe at the idea that I’ve cracked anyone’s glass even accidentally. It’s something that shames me at the thought.

Feelings are also amorphous and changing; they may seem obvious but are up to interpretation. And rather than getting it wrong, it’s vastly easier to fill the silence between the emotion and it’s meaning with “I’m sorry.”
Lastly, however, and most damanging to the reflective; feelings are not equations, and cannot be easily understood. My anger and reasons behind it are never obvious to others who can’t see any perspective but their own. So then they get mad I’m mad, because they assume I have no reason for it, and then they don’t understand. 

Sometimes I’m so tired of explaining I can’t form words to fight back. I can’t explain what I think should be obvious. So I settle for keeping the peace and keeping it to myself:

“I’m sorry.”

It’s Not You

And on a day…

Where things are mostly fine…

 

Every normal obstacle feels enormous

Like a shadow over the future

Like seeing something flicker

Out of the corner of your eye

 

Everything wrong,

feels like my fault,

No matter how many times I tell myself otherwise.

Because when people are cruel,

when life is cruel,

It’s really hard to believe that it’s not you.

 

But it’s not you.

As long as you worry it is,

As long as you work to make sure you do your best,

It isn’t you.

It was never you.

 

It’s okay.

Her

Do you know what it’s like to see her in your dreams?

Her smile, or her laugh?

To imagine everything she did or could have done?

Do you know what it’s like to see her behind your eyes as you hold them?¬†

Layers shed, halfway through, and all of a sudden there she is.

I’m with him, but she’s here too,

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Do you know what it’s like to see her face?

You imagine everything you want to do, it’s so vivid you can almost taste it.

Revenge would be sweet.

Maybe if others knew, your blood wouldn’t boil.

Maybe if you were vindicated, you could fall asleep without seeing them.

Maybe you could go back to pretending things are perfect, with the same conviction you had before.

Maybe if you tore up her life,

The way she smiled at you as she tore up yours,

You could sleep through the night.