Tell Me I'm Dreaming // poetry

26. sorry i stole your sweater

I'm sorry I stole your sweater, but you're not at home.
It's kinda hard to miss you when it's been so long.
And I'm sad to say that I'm used to it, but that's the truth,
so -- I'm sorry I stole your sweater, but --

yeah.

I know I've done some things that hurt Mom and Dad,
and I know it probably hurts when they call you up mad.
'Cause you're the only one who could ever make me listen,
and make me pay attention without me exploding,
so I'm sorry I stole your sweater, but --
I need someone to hug me right now, and you're not here.

I don't know when I stopped adoring and started loving you,
and it's hard to define when there's nothing else to compare to.
But even when you're no longer eleven years older than me,
I'll love you still for all the years that you cared for me, 
so I'm sorry I stole your sweater, but --
wearing it is comforting.

Because sometimes I'm sorry -- in the dead of night -- I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for making Mom and Dad mad,
and I'm sorry for hurting you so bad,
and I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time,
when you've got a job and you've got a wife,
and I'm sorry that any of you ever had to see me cry, 
and I'm sorry for all the mistakes that I've made
and the words I wish would crawl back into my mouth
things my tongue might unsay if I ever had the chance.
Yeah, in the dead of night I'm sorry that I'm so tough on myself
and I'm sorry that I can't meet my own expectations
and I'm sorry that I don't eat less, work out more,
and I'm sorry that I don't play less, study more,
and I'm sorry for my temper that's quicker than lightning
and my stubbornness, that demon you're all fighting
and I'm sorry that my sorries mean so little now,
when I've said them so often that you can't see them as a vow, but --

in the dead of night, I'm --
most of all sorry that I need you to love me for me
'cause I've been trying for sixteen years but I can't like me as me.

In the dead of night -- sometimes -- I'm sorry.
So I creep into your room, and perhaps, it's winter
so I watch the flakes of snow spiral through the silence
illumined by the streetlamps, dancing to the ground.
And I do a spin in your old office chair,
my legs curled up, pressed to your sweater,
and then I put my feet back on the ground, feeling strangely steady
after being spun around.
I roll around in your bed.
Sniff the smell of pine that came with it,
faded now after years, and yet present --
like the smell of you, and the sensation
that lingers in your room.

And then I'll remember
one thing that I'm not sorry for.
And that's loving you.

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I know I haven't written anything in forever, but well, here's this. I really like it. I'm experimenting with a somewhat different style of poetry -- one that sounds more natural when spoken and has less structural constraints. I'm still not sure what my overall style of poetry is like. I like both this more loose, free style of poetry, but also my really structured rhyme/meter stuff. Idk. Feel free to tell me what you think.

- The Author (lol)