I’m apologizing for the things I’ve said.

That have nothing to do with you,

but effect the way I move ahead,

and catch me off guard instead.

If history repeats,

Wouldn’t it feel wrong to be a replica in their sheets?

‘Cause our newfound monogamy can hold us together just as neat,

Falling apart,

And ripping at the seams.

Should the fact that I’m writing this before a love poem speak?

Or is it just,

Another deep dive into the mind of a brittle bride, lacking comfort when she sleeps.

Our last names,

the same.

And yes our memory still remains,

but it runs in real time almost identical story lines,

A lesson learned by the past 8 years replayed in my mind.

So yes I will let you call me a fine dime,

Cuddle my courtesy and scramble my mind,

Guarantee the safety of my sorrows cupped within the hands of your lies.

But when it comes time to feel the real and open up what’s really inside, I never said I wasn’t willing to reside within your bind.

To spend my life learning how to love the for real way,

not the patch, seal, save for a later ordeal way.

The apology with gifts, and an expensive meal way.

But the soak up your cheeks in an emotional peak, impossible conversations not for the weak,

Knowing the anger is a distraction from the peace that we seek.