I'm sorry for existing, I know I waste your time. I'm sorry I can't be the one you thought you'd find.
I'm sorry that my thoughts and words and dreams, are laughable, pathetic, under-baked, without esteem.
I'm sorry when I'm sad, or my voice goes up in pitch, I know those things annoy you, like an unrelenting itch.
I'm sorry as my taking space across the house from you, causes you to feel drama, spitefulness, an ugly mood.
I promise that my breathing isn't meant to cause dismay, though my presence close beside you only darkens down your day.
When you tell me that you love me, but you truly hate me too, I would have you see my wish that I could fix myself for you.
In the moments you explain that no one cares for me at all, My arms yearn to be around you, providing comfort, love and salve.
As you tear apart my books and threaten my pc, I focus on the hurt hiding deep within your glee.
Sometimes I stand before the mirror, and I make a playful face, but I know you'd see a failure, ugliness, and scream disgrace.
I know that you are sorry that I'm not the girl you'd choose, tho now that I have known you, I'd say you're also not my muse.
I'm not sorry for existing, and I didn't waste your time. I'm better now, and stronger, even though it was a climb.
My breathing, and my voice, and my thoughts and hopes and dreams; They echo deep within me - strident, verdant and extreme.
So when I hear your voice sounding deep within my ear, I tell myself I matter, and your voice? It disappears.