An apology

If you know me, you would know that I have always asked my friends to love themselves so that they could learn to love others. But today, I am going to write about self hatred instead of self love.

If there is anything about me, it is that I am not good at expressing my gratitude.
If I like you, and I talk to you a lot, you have probably noticed that I am caring one moment and completely sarcastic the next.
You must've seen a change in me, like multiple attitudes. And maybe, I hurt you because of it. 
I might've been very interested in your life one day, and extremely disinterested the other. 
Maybe you've felt bad...you might've changed your views about me but hey, I'm still the good person you used to talk to.

So consider this an apology, a letter, a poem, a song, anything, but know that it comes straight from my heart. 

You are so nice to me.
You seem interested in my life and show me lots of love.
You tell me that as friends: we were meant to be,
like the sand and the sea.
It makes me happy.
And whenever I am happy,
a feeling of fear, a chill creeps into my body from my heart.
I feel scared,
euphoria turns into despondency because of the fear
that I will do something wrong to mess it up.
And that feeling of depression and desolation ruins me.
It brings a change, a weak metanoia;
but a metanoia still
that destroys the moment.
And that is how one day you are speaking to an elated soul,
and the next- a completely different one.
And how I mess up perfect friendships just like that,
makes me want to run on the ground and fall into a hole.
How is it that I can wish so hard for a moment to come,
and then ruin it by doing something really bad?

My heart tears at my mind for doing that,
and I tear at my soul;
and an apology is required.
I am sorry for killing the sapling you sowed in our garden.
Sorry for killing something that was meant to be a giant tree.
And I know, if you cared about it, a mistake like this can never be pardoned.
I am sorry for all the stories I had to render incomplete.

where is my voice as a free person; where is my home

I agree to some extent,
there are days I work in a disgusting manner, only creating more work for others,
And days I influence the young not to work better.
There are days I disregard my duties,
And give my jobs to the younger one,
And days I use my tongue not for taste but to run my mouth.
There are days I shamelessly bring in my report card with B's along with the A's,
and days I dress up a little more than others.
There are days when finding my bag is like moving in a maze,
And days when I fight with the young in a bloody craze.

But if I am answerable to you then why don't you hear me out,
for the deeds that I have done why don't you ever cease to shout?
Where is my voice as a person not suppressed,
where is the equal treatment against breaking rules for the rest?

How can I tell you?
I feel as shameful as you feel angry at me for not being responsible,
And I feel sad as well.
It is so hard for you to realise that I can be sad too, so you never consider the possibility at all?
Where are you when I stumble and fall?

This is not to explain myself but to show you,
Out of what of think of me, what all is true