I have not,

Will not,

Regret anything I've ever

Done or said.

I am a woman with a

A strong voice,

A committment to acts of charity,

I strive to be fair.

I strive to be kind.

But the little girl,

She lives inside of me,

She is only four.

The little girl has been frightened.

The little girl has been lost.

The little girl cannot speak in her own defense.

My only regret lies in the things the little girl could not do,

Could not say.

And when she comes out, I still cannot protect her.

an inhale of entrails

tangled and coiled

collapsing

colliding

chords in minor keys

out of tune and unrelenting

I can still feel the imprint

if your skin stuck to mine

like a shadow embroidered

to the seams of my being

clinging

squeezing

queezy

pounding and thundering

every regret

is written in morse code

and sung out in Braille

over the intercom of my cheeks

through the speakers of my eyelids

suddering

shifting

wishing

wondering

would you

still

love me

if I...

there is such a thing.

It exists.

It may only be ignored

It exists

foregoing the state of non-entity

you may gain understanding

Yes

the past in the past

made you

Yes

life is your own

leave them be

move on

but if there was a choice

to be without

then there must have been.

"Well, gimme something to write about." I'm fumbling with this cordless keyboard, sitting Indian style at the side of the bed, your right leg propping my terrible posture easily.

"Write about?"

"Yea... you know... I'm writing." I try to take this order thing seriously. Sometimes.

"Regret."

"Mm," I say, knowingly. Our short courtship was birthed in shadow.

Or Light.

I suppose that riddle depends on the asker.

I say, "I don't have many of those," and wonder immediately if that is true. And I know you are not asking me to write a list of sins to lay at the discretion of the internet gods for absolution, but there, I find the subject matter.

Those quick thoughts that traipse in and out and through. They led me to, 'Why do you suppose the mere mention of the word brings me to guilt, and sin?'

You are sleeping. I never give you enough time for rest.

(This is not my confessional.)

Regret.

It makes me ponder right versus wrong. Good versus evil. That thin, subjective line. It leads me back to my childhood understanding of the universe and through a myriad of choices leading me through the not-so-straight-and-narrow to needless confession and fear and, the long way about, to something that feels as awful as freedom.

You learned, like I did, that freedom was not in choice, but in absolutes; that true freedom lied in allegiance and boxes and rules.

I'm not sure if the quote is in the book, but the in the movie, The Mists of Avalon, one of the characters (it's been so long... I'm sure I could Google it, but it's 2:16 AM and my thoughts are like gusts of wind...) says, speaking of a nunnery, "suffering brings women to God."

The phrase always seemed to resonate. In it's own way, my suffering had been a badge. It became a banner blazing Chuck Palahniuk quotes that I scribed on the laundry-room walls of the ghetto in the Concrete Jungle.

"Self- improvement is masturbation."

However self-inflicted, my bleeding heart and ego were then paraded about with my abused vocal cords like the "answers" were simple. I had them all, and was all too willing to share them.

I never bothered with the questions.

Another quote resonates with the word. A lyric. "Please don't barrage me with the questions to all those ugly answers. My ego's like my stomach. It keeps shitting what I feed it."

The focus on freedom to choose "right" only beckons back to the remorse, the fear that led to the need for forgiveness... and then it says, "You will never be good enough. Good news, though. Someone made a payment on your behalf."

It's snowing here. Or was. But the winter breath is what saying those words (in not so many words, of course) feels like. When I last wrote so "candidly" it was like frozen air in my lungs as though the words on the screen were turning summer to winter before it's time and all through my mouth.

For that, I have regret.

I haven't read it in some time, and though I feel the same still, I will not remove it. There are many things in the past I have regretted and absolved within myself. The badges and scars are not so much testament anymore as much as they are story but I wear them without pride or boasting or loathing. If those words brought someone peace even for a moment, then I cannot truly say I feel remorse for them. Our beings find the experiences they must have, because they must.

The "witching hour" is close and I am tired and my fingers smell of smoke like they do when I am caught up in writing. I suppose that could be another thing I regret: smoking again after more than two years, but I will pine the relapse another time. Your snores make the pillow inviting, and perhaps I have poured out enough thought to sleep quickly.

Regret is a tonic you have to drink, but briefly for the wisdom from it. It is like that rare shot of bourbon drank for whatever reason. The sharpness of it, the flame of it. That tinge of pain to gain something a bit rewarding. But, caution comes with the reward. Too much of it will destroy. Just like regret. Too much destroys. Too little shows a lack of empathy. Just enough, will always make you a bit better a person and a bit more connected to how it all is.

I regret many things but for once I regret nothing.

I regret embarrassing myself so many times I lost count,

I regret trusting people that in the future just hurt me like I was just a little rat in there presents just waiting to be stomped on and crushed.

But I don't regret anything when it came to getting revenge on them,

Making them suffer and squirm like they made me.

What they did to me they will never do again because they are crushed and dead just like me.

Sometimes we wonder..

If we have taken the chance, what will the outcome be?

Will it be something worthwhile?

It might have been

If we have taken the chance.

Now, all that is left is just the regret of not stepping out of our comfort zone and taking the chance

Regret.

Something we are likely to encounter in life at different phrases.

You can't stop it.

But you can learn from it and not make the same mistakes and regret from it again.

It's time to take a chance~

I let you escape

You got away from my stare

And dispersed with the dark

I should've moved in

Went for the kill

And planted one right

Smack dab

On your lips

Those odd things

You can't seem to stop

Rubbing together

And that I

Can't stop wanting to meet

What's a life with regret? If you've made a mistake there's nothing you can do to reverse time. It happened, that's it...Instead of having regret, think of this as a lesson learned. It is through experience that we become wise. Just remember, you can't change the past but you can affect the future.