{Poetry}: Apologize

I recently joined a couple of groups that offer creative writing prompts. The last post was a fiction writing prompt, and I interpreted it the best I can, given my present state of mind, however this one is a poetry prompt. In my challenge group, the moderator suggested the following challenge:

“Write a poem where one part is repeated three times in each stanza. It can be a word or a phrase but in each stanza something must be repeated three times.”

As a result, here’s my poem, Apologize.


The broken, rusted-out stars flicker
as though they, too, beg for an apology.
The night is a cracked shell,
waiting for an explanation.
We’re all sorry here,
broken bones and biting lips.

(I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.)

These apologies fall from my lips
like muscle memory, every doubt a flicker
of who I was when I last stood here.
I know you’ll never provide me an apology.
I’m a shadow of my former self, a shell,
still waiting for an explanation.

(I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.)

Your words are an empty excuse, never an explanation.
(I am holding a map with no compass. Lost without being found.)
I stand out on a cold winter night, no jacket with shivering lips.
I felt I was walking on broken glass, trampling on egg shells.
I remember the flash of a camera, now just a streetlamp’s flicker.
I’m not the girl I was when I first stood here.
Too many years passed, and I’ve stopped waiting for a simple apology.
(I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.)

You’re too much of a coward to give me an apology.
You don’t feel you owe me an explanation.
(You always thought your presence was a gift, not a burden.)
I thought I moved on, trekked forward, but I’m still here
at this crossroad, a question of “lost” on my lips.
I don’t have doubts, but maybe I do just have a flicker
(of faith still in you). I refuse to be simply a shell.
(I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.)

If I fall back into the habits that made me be a shell,
I feel I owe an apology.
(I worked too hard, too damn hard, to be just a husk.)
I’ll always have my shine, even if some days, it’s a mere flicker.
If stones don’t offer an apology, then I don’t owe an explanation.
These words are just falling from my tongue, dripping from my lips.
I won’t be going anywhere for a long time. I’m meant to be here.
(And for this, I’ll never say
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.)



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