(I'm A Little Sorry)

All you ever read about are the girls that are made of light and smell like summer and

speak like walking through molasses 

all people ever write about are the soft-to-the-touch girls and

the rose-petal girls and the ones made up of

dew and hope and exhales.

I am not those girls.

I think I tried to be once.

Just to give you something to write about. 

But I’m not.

I’m made of stale coffee and quick-remarks

too early in the morning.

I’m made of dirty feet on the kitchen floor and

dead flowers in the living room.

I don’t know how to be soft, and

everything I touch walks away with bruising bite marks-

I didn’t mean for it to go this way.

I don’t know how to say I’m sorry

I don’t know how to say forgive me

I don’t know how to say I love you

So if you’re looking for the soft ones, for the pretty ones, for the ones made of light and

sunday afternoons-

you won’t find them here.

and I’m not sorry anymore.