Regrets

I’m not attached
To the hair on my head
Like I am attached to my smile

Because I need it to hold onto
The pieces of peace
That I stack in a neat little pile

The pile for peace is stacked in my brain
On top
Of my bin of regrets

Along with every second to hold it all in
In hopes
That I might start
To forget

That

I

Never say nothing to pass the time
And inside that box is my desperate
Need
To rhyme
And always the way that I have to nitpick
Plus the top of this poem is making me sick

And always and ever I yank at my lip
Plus when I drink juice, I gulp
Not sip
When I was
In third grade I bit Morgan Meyer’s arm
I was being a dog
I didn’t mean any harm

But I’ll pile the peace up on top of that bin
So nobody
Will know
What I’ve hidden within