I’m Sorry

July 5, 2009

7/5/09

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,
embarrassed.

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.

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Just a dream, right?

February 12, 2009

02/12/09

Last night I had a dream. You see, I don’t really like dreams. Mine usually seem to be connected to inner fear or just something stupid that scares me while I’m asleep, though when I think about it later it seems idiotic. It wasn’t terribly frightening, though it was strange. It had something to do with a couple topics I’ve had on my mind a lot recently. Cutting and To Write Love On Her Arms. (In fact I’m wearing my one of my TWLOHA tees right now.)

In this dream I was in some hospital/psychiatric ward. The setup was similar to parts of my house, yet like a hospital at the same time. It was vacant. I wandered the halls with a few of my family members (I only remember my mother and Eleanor), yet I kept ending up in the same place.  As if I was going in circles. So while wandering these empty halls alone, they seemed dirty or abandoned. Finally I came across a bed, in which was my former house guest, Abby. I was scared I didn’t know what to say or do, I didn’t want to go pleading sorry. I ran back in circles, trying to think things over. Finally, I entered a bathroom. In that bathroom I found a razor blade. No, not a three bladed razor you would use to shave your legs. I razor blade. I began to cut little slits in my hand, the one I remember most was on my thumb. I hesitated a moment and went on. They were not very deep, but enough to sting. Blood didn’t ooze, but I saw blood. — My hands are shaking while I type this post.– I was tempted to go for my wrist, but I didn’t slice through the skin, only because I had a fear of “bleeding it out”. All through school the thought of cutting racked through my brain, and I was scared.


The Little Things

February 2, 2009

Today I was at least hopeful, and not completely negative. In fact I was secretly excited to go to PE, but keep that a secret. I’m trying hard to focus on my work when Sarah, Veronica, and I get to talking about the Katy Perry concert. Veronica: “I really want to go, but my mom says no since it’s at a bar. But I might get to see The Killers!” My heart sinks. I cannot remember if I spilled the beans or what, but I pray to god that the tickets will soon be sold out before she gets her hands on them. Me: “Oh.” That was all I managed to say. Veronica is barely a Killers fan; I wish I could strangle her right now. I come back with, “Yeah, I love The Killers. I have all their albums.” I understand that was a total cat-ish thing to do, but to be honest, that was what I was aiming for. Yeah, yeah, she knows one song. In my book, that is called a poseur fan. You might not understand how it can get under my skin so much, but I like doing things on my own. Without friends to ask to “hang out” with me when all they do insult me.

 Sarah speaks, “Phoenixx don’t take this the wrong way, but my brother thinks-” I finish for her, “That I’m to young to go to Warped Tour. I know, you told me.” She goes on about how he said I was too young to go to concerts, listen to this kind of music, “besides I might think I know what they are talking about, but I really don’t”. Now, the last of that sentence was a quote. All I could think was, WHY DOES HE (YOU) ****ING CARE?!?!?! It’s not like it is any of his business. Note to self: Never speak of any concerts near my “friends”… ever. This is one reason why I love to isolate myself from everyone. Just when I’ve dusted myself back off, they bite back with words. I reply to Sarah, “What I am I supposed to listen to, Hannah Montana?!?!?!” I wish I could scream in her face. In fact both of them, but I’ve got a “good girl” reputation and I wish I could show them my venom.

 Later that day Madeline comes over to me, “Phoeni, I can’t believe you are gonna bail on me with the Katy Perry concert!” I’m sorry, but I would like to save my money for other concerts and merchandise money. I reply to her, “I’m sorry, but I wanted to see The Killers.” “Yeah, but still.” she continues. I respond, “Yeah, but it’s THE KILLERS.” Veronica was sitting next to me. Of course then she starts talking about bands, which leads to a dream she had, which leads to money. With that someone asks what she would do with the money. Veronica: “Um, go to concerts, buy clothes, shoes.” Go to concerts was her first answer. I know for a fact she wouldn’t even have thought about it if I hadn’t brought it up. God, why do I have to be such an idiot?!

I suppose, I shouldn’t get mad over things so little as these, but it’s the little things that make me itch.