Sorry, not sorry

The apology slips from my mouth

before I can stop it.

I bite my bottom lip with frustration.

I'm not sorry.

Yet I have this inherent need

to tell you I am. Because you

can't dislike me. Or think I'm crazy.

Crazy. The crazy scale.

Where I feature at about a 7 out of 10....

self proclaimed.

But what makes me crazy?

A deep-routed need for validation.

Is that crazy? Or just circumstance.

Just a need for you to understand me.

Tell me straight. No games.

I've been lost in this maze for too long.

I'm tired of wandering.

Wondering.