Not Sorry

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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