I’m Sorry

July 5, 2009


I’m sorry;
it’s easier for me to write these things than say them.
I just can’t back down,
I can’t “lose”.
I don’t want to have to give in to apologies.
Showing that maybe we are even,
when I want to be one point ahead.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me.”
Why, that is a lie.
People tell me all the time
that my words are more powerful than I think.
I never believed them because I was the person
on the other side.
The one saying all those hurtful things.

I was frustrated, but I know it was uncalled for.
How did I let just one word slip from my mouth?
I’m sorry, I truly am.
After the guilt settled in my stomach
I knew I would have to say it.
That I AM sorry, but I can’t.
It seems I’ve gone mute
and shame myself for all that I’ve ever said.
Hide away in my room,

It has never been easy for me, saying sorry.
Sometimes I say it with my fingers crossed behind my back,
other times I mumble it,
and now I finally do mean it.
Yet I can’t come to say it to your face
because you have won in this “battle”
(that you don’t know you’re playing).

You might forgive me, maybe not.
Though something similar might just happen again,
but things just won’t be the same.
I could be making a big deal out of this,
but it was a pretty bad idea.
I just didn’t take the time to think,
well, I guess I did, but it just came out of my mouth
rather then staying put inside my head.

Will this have to end in slamming doors
or will you read this and forgive me?
I know I’m in trouble
and the guilt keeps nagging, “Stop keeping me in suspense!”
Maybe by the time you read this, things will have cooled off.
I am at loss of words all I can say is,
I’m sorry.

Girl of Lies

June 16, 2009

Dear Girl of Lies,
don’t lock the door,
touch my stuff,
or think about my brother.

Most importantly,
do not lay any of your fingers on my guitar.
Do not strum the strings,
you make me have to re-tune my guitar.
To put it simply,
I don’t like that.

Your arrogance is disgusting
and you love it.
I can’t believe those filthy things you say.
No, not quite vulgar,
but all of those white lies you tell.
They add up quickly.
Your hurtful words are not forgiven
nor forgotten.
I can’t believe you can sleep with the guilt
laying in your stomach, I know I couldn’t.

When you speak, I fake a smile.
I try at being nice, though you don’t understand.
You haven’t got the slightest idea how I am raised.
We are nice to each other in my house.
We don’t lie and we follow rules.
If that doesn’t work, you are spoken to.
With someone’s sharply intimidating looks,
you’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.

Girl of Lies, I have advice,
don’t lie.


April 24, 2009


I wake up to big, thick, curly, brown hair

 It’s fairly long and tangled

 I manage to get it back into pig tales

Or just one ponytail

Yet I am unhappy with my foolish hair

Ever since I was little I’d complain,

“I wish I had straight hair!”

Then I got a little older and thought,

I want it to be long, sleek, and black

Though my desire for straight hair remained

Until finally I figured an odd solution


I wore my annoyingly long, thick, curly, brown hair

in braids (get that straight, no cornrows… blech)

It was rare you’d ever see me wear my mess of hair down

And if I did I knew what they’d all say

She needs to brush her hair! or

Ew, her hair is frizzy!

I cried and fussed over my hair

I’d take a look in the mirror

And wish I was that girl, the girl who had the world

All with the help of her hair and beauty

Just last year I took a risk

And chopped several inches off of my long, thick, curly, brown hair

I felt like a goddess

Finally, something new

Something different

2009 wrapped around the corner and it was time for a trim

Though the woman straightened my hair during the process

I was anxious, curious even

When she finished, I looked in the mirror

And I cried

I felt so odd and out of place

I felt ugly

And I felt like a fake; this wasn’t me

All but one small section of that straight hair vanished

And my curls were back

I started to love those curls

Then the cycle started to repeat its self

Though I didn’t necessarily want straight or long hair

Just something less curly or a big messy bob

I told people,

“I wish I could just take scissors and chop away these curls.”

They laughed

At what I said and others laughed at my “tangled” curls

I was getting so sick and tired of people telling me to brush my hair

What they don’t understand is, if you brush ethnic hair 24/7

It is nothing more than hideous fuzz

One day I pleaded to my mother to cut my hair

But really, it was just a thought that wasn’t going to happen…

Quite yet

I look in the mirror, frustrated thinking,

Why am I stuck with these curls?


January 28, 2009

I started reading a book called “Identical” by Ellen Hopkins yesterday. If you have read any of Hopkins’ writing you’ll know she writes in verse, like poetry. There is a scene in the book where Kaeleigh escapes from her problems by cutting her leg. I wrote this poem from her perspective yet trying to make it different from Hopkins’.

She remains unsure    n2643301

Hands shaking, eyes closed,

Picking up the razor

Been shaving these legs for years

I’m careful, right? 


Flows from her long gash

Engraved into her leg

I thought cutters were sick?

More so, than my own self

I see how addicting this pain feels

Hot water

Washing away the blood

I need to clean up

Baggy sweat pants and T-shirt

I look like a hippie

What will daddy say?

“No daughter of mine

will leave my house dressed like


To Write Love On Her Arms

November 28, 2008

This is a To Write Love On Her Arms inspired poem of mine. To Write Love On Her Arms is a foundation that helps males and females who are depressed and or self inflicting and seeking help. The foundation was started to help a friend and turned out to be a pretty big deal. Merchandise and books are sold on their websites and any local Hot Topic. The founder, Jamie Tworkowski goes on tours raising awareness for the situation. I am not one to self inflict, this is a message to those who do.


A pretty scar

A puddle of blood

A razor blade


You are thinking

Adrenaline rush

Feels good for a moment

You don’t need this

Not this weight

On your shoulders

Don’t take it out

On your arm

No need

To bleed it out

Yet you are loving

Every minute

Hating every second

You don’t need this

“All you need is love



Love is all you need” -lyric by The Beatles



November 27, 2008

(11/26/08) CITIES

Depression is eating away

At a small, broken, frayed city

Cries for help, fear, and tarnished hope

Are heard

Dissolving into late night skies

Demons in the walls

Whisper to those who can hear

Are driven to insanity

Gray skies and purple clouds

Hover over poor broken city

The Skies wail

Everyone is washed away

Last words spoken are

“I’ll love you until

my last breath takes you

away from me.”- lyric by Choidos