Tag Archives: apologies


I don’t remember how I like to sleep
The inside of a kitchen drawer
Or a suitcase-less floor

I know the elevator buttons here
React a bit too slowly
I know he’s letting go of me –
I don’t remember when it started, but I can feel it growing
I remember knowing
That this couldn’t last forever
I remember feeling better, I remember we were changing
I don’t remember breaking though I think we tried to fix it

When will he get angry that
My nerves are getting jumpy
I don’t remember feeling calmer though someone said I could be
I remember knowing they’ll choose what they want to see in me
I don’t remember losing the chance to take the stand
But there’s a suitcase in my hand
And somewhere else I need to be.



I felt better today
But is better enough?
How do you know when it’s time to give up?
When is it time to stop being tough
And admit what we both know
We’d both be better if I chose to go
But is better enough?
I know things are rough
But there was a time things were better
Well, better than better – let me explain
There was a time when your name
Sent shivers down my spine
There was a time when just “fine”
Was never how we were
There was a time you had me all
Before you spent part of me on her
But when is it time to give up on what we were
And accept that just “better”
Should never be the goal
When is it time to walk away & fold?


I loved you before you knew how to love,
In an unpretentious way –
How much, I can’t say, words never held the weight
But the world was mine and I gave it to you.
I waited for you
Stepped back and gave you time
I was yours to call “mine”
But you sparked a match and let me burn alone.
I loved you before I knew how to crumble
As a bumbling fool who left a heart to be fumbled
Chipped away at and bruised
Used and confused I loved you regardless
But I’m giving you up
And somehow this part’s the hardest.

I want you to know.

I want you to know
I’m sorry for
The space between your bones I used to fill
And it’s not that I gave up on  you
But the smoke in your room
Took my breath away
More than you ever will.

I want you to know
There was a time
When I believed in you, that you
Were lighter than the darkness you created
That you believed in trust

What I’m trying to say is
When you gave up on waking up before two
I took it rather personally.

I want you to know
That, though diminished,
You will always be
The dust in the corner of my mind,
The afterthought, the words unspoken
But not forgotten.

What I’m trying to say is
I’m moving on
And part of me is sorry
And sad to see you bleed
I hope you find the things you need
But I want you to know
I will never be those things again.


I spent most of the weekend drinking
Monday morning hit me like a truck
I give up on makeup I have no foundation I would say that I’m unsteady
Monday morning hit me like a truck
[why did you give up on me?]
I spent most of the weekend drinking
You away, I give up on breakfast
I am feeling rather empty
I have too much space for you — I’m just starting to feel it
Monday morning hit me like a truck
I give up on self-defense
This cannot be justified
[maybe blame my parents]
I’m sorry for assuming you were permanent
You deserve less, I guess I should’ve tried once in a while
I’m sorry
I spent most of the weekend drinking
Monday morning hit me like a truck.


I found the note you left
Behind in the kitchen, behind the coffee pot
That I used to put on for you
After nights I kept you up too late
And clothes that I took off for you
Those are the last words you will write for me, I know.

If blame must be placed
I guess this falls on me this time
I’m sorry for that time you saw me
Getting choked up at my desk
When he finished that marathon
and I heard his name broadcast on the radio.

What I’m trying to say is
When I saw you putting on your glasses
I knew I loved you both
And I tried so hard to choose you
And to live every day like I was in love
But the questions kept you up at night, I know.

What I’m trying to say is
I like to put my dress on in front of an open window
Then poke my head out to see who was watching
Not for attention — to avoid the static
I fear all things stagnant
Your distrust in the frenetic is not something surprising.

I read the note you left,
The last words you will write for me
I’m standing in my kitchen and I feel good but a
couple tears drip down; I’m just starting to feel it
I loved you both and I did mean it
You think this falls on me this time, I know.