Sorry that I’m so complicated. I forget sometimes that I can be a touch overbearing. I’m sorry for how I act, the way I look, for being loud and bouncing into your world. I didn’t mean to knock you around and make a mess. Maybe I shouldn’t always speak my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t do a lot of things. But then wouldn’t I be a different person? If I wasn’t me you wouldn’t see in me whatever it is that you do.
Perhaps you’d see more, something better.
Sorry that I’m so insecure. I never used to be like that, you know, until I saw you. You made me feel again. I hate you for that, but I would never say it to your face. No one made me question my existence until you traipsed so casually over my life. You’re a head fuck darling and I love you for it, even when you make me cry. By the way, you forgot to wipe your feet on the way in. And would you kindly get off my broken heart.
Sandy footprints on my soul, grit between my teeth.
Sorry that I opened my mouth. I didn’t mean to ask so many questions, to make you shy away. I’m just curious. You spoke too--this wasn’t a one sided conversation--at least some of the time. And for fuck’s sake, I think I deserved some answers. Was it so wrong for me to ask for that? I saw in you a little of what I used to see in me, and a lot of what I’d like to be. I guess I saw wrong.
Picture perfect, image manipulation.

I’ll just throw myself back onto the luggage carousel and maybe one day someone will have the strength to take me home.
My tag will read: ‘sorry that I assumed I was good enough’.