Not Sorry

not sorryI like flavored coffee.
Chocolate raspberry is my favorite.
I drink it with sugar, and extra cream even though I know the best flavors are appreciated most with neither.
I’m not sorry. It’s who I am.

I still clap my hands when I get excited
even though I’m an adult, and adults aren’t supposed to act like that.
A trailer of my favorite book turned movie;
visits from my brothers;
listening to her read to me;
hearing that he’s happy to live here;
my nieces and nephews.
Sometimes I jump up and down.
Sometimes I squeal.
I’m not sorry. It’s who I am.

I still believe in fairies.
Sometimes I think I am one.
I love princess tales, and barbie dolls, even though I know that people think both are bad.
I would paint the whole world pink.
I love flowy skirts, and satin gloves.
I would wear a tiara every day if I could.
Although I’d probably be wearing yoga pants when I did.
I’m not sorry. It’s who I am.

I talk a lot.
Too much.
I just have so much to say.
I have so many stories.
They take time to tell.
I still want someone to listen, even though I know that most people don’t have enough time to do it.
I’m not sorry. It’s who I am.

I believe in love,
and romance,
and magic.
I’m not sorry. It’s who I am.

I cry when I’m:
angry,
sad,
happy,
lonely.
I’m not sorry. It’s who I am.

I’m not sorry for who I am,
but I am sorry
that you don’t like what you’ve read.
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