People who could not love me at 3am

I loved people who could not
love me at 3am
when I was drunk on poetry
and a desire to be by myself.
I loved people who made pillows
out of excuses,
who slept between layers
of I’m sorry’s
and always woke up tired.
I know I was exhausting
to be around.

I know you got tired
of the way I made crimes
out of the foods I used to love.
I know my late night wanderings
weren’t exactly what you signed up for.
Neither were the angry poems.
I am sorry that loving me
felt like a fulltime job.
I am sorry you didn’t get
the weekends off.

I am sorry for a lot of things,
but I am no longer sorry
for how I chose
to take care of myself
in the only way I knew how.
I know that my survival
was not always beautiful
but at least it got me here.

Isn’t that what counts?
— poem by (yet) unknown writer