For Every Sorry

A flower for every "sorry" I need to say;
but, like the most beautiful of flowers,
they eventually wilt, they lose their petals,
and they shrivel up and expire.
It reminds me that, in my mind,
in the household of my head,
sorrys, like flowers, will mean nothing,
and they will perish along with my sincerity...
and the worst part is, the flowers were
hand-picked, hand-held, and I planned
to give them to you when I was ready.
Nobody wants dead flowers.
Nobody wants empty apologies.
Nobody wants them, my mind says.
So, I crawl back into the earth,
becoming one with the roots of the flowers beneath,
so that I, too, may grow strong and beautiful,
and then, and only then, will my "sorry" finally mean something.

-lj
10 March 2017