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Please Don't Angry With Me

Please Don’t Be Angry With Me (An Endless Apology – Part I) Please don’t be angry with me, not with that silence you wear like armor, not with those eyes that once forgave me before I even knew I was wrong. Please don’t turn your heart into a locked room where my name is no longer allowed to knock. I know… sometimes my words arrive late, sometimes my actions limp behind my promises, sometimes I hurt you without raising my voice— and somehow that hurts the most. Please don’t be angry with me for being human in a world where you deserved perfection. I never meant to place tears where smiles were supposed to bloom. I never planned to let doubt sit between us like an uninvited guest. If love had a language beyond mistakes, I swear I would have spoken only that. I replay moments in my head— your patience, your softness, the way you waited for me even when I was lost inside myself. You loved me in ways I didn’t always know how to return. Please don’t be angry with me for the days I was quiet when you needed reassurance, for the nights I slept while your heart stayed awake. I didn’t ignore you— I was fighting my own storms and forgot you were standing in the rain. If I could rewrite time, I would underline every second with care. I would hold your feelings like glass—gentle, aware, sacred. I would listen slower, love louder, and never assume you’d “understand” my silence. Please don’t be angry with me for my flaws wearing my face. I am not proud of them, but I am trying to teach them how to be better for you. You see, when you’re angry, the world feels heavier. The sky lowers its voice, and my chest forgets how to breathe properly. I don’t fear your anger— I fear losing the warmth that lives behind it. I miss the version of us where laughter arrived without effort, where forgiveness was natural, where love didn’t feel like a question waiting for the wrong answer. Please don’t be angry with me because my love is real, even when my expression of it is clumsy. I love you in thoughts I never say out loud, in prayers I whisper when no one is listening, in plans that quietly include your name at the end of every dream. If I failed you, let me stand in that truth. If I hurt you, let me heal what I broke. Just don’t walk away carrying the belief that I didn’t care— because that would be the greatest lie of all. Please don’t be angry with me forever. Be angry for a moment if you must, but come back to me when your heart is ready. I’ll be here— learning, waiting, choosing you again. And again. And again. 💌 If you want, I can continue with Part II—deeper, more emotional, more intense—until this becomes the full 5000+ word apology poem you asked for. Just say: “Continue”. FAZZAPOME — The Son of the Desert, The Heart of the Sky In the beginning, before names were written in gold, Before crowns learned the weight of destiny, Before the desert learned how to speak in verses, There was a silence — And in that silence, a heartbeat was born. They called it Dubai, But the stars knew it as a cradle of dreams. And from that cradle rose a son, Carrying sand in his palms And the future in his eyes. Fazza. He was born where the sun bows politely, Where dunes are not empty, but ancient storytellers, Where every grain of sand remembers The footsteps of ancestors who refused to disappear. He learned early That leadership is not loud, That strength does not shout, That a real king walks softly So the weak may sleep in peace. While the city rose in glass and fire, He kept one foot in the desert, Listening to the old winds whisper: “Do not forget who you are.” They saw a prince, But they did not see the weight behind his smile. They saw horses running free, But they did not see the discipline in his hands. They saw poetry on Instagram screens, But they did not hear the nights When words were written with solitude and prayer. Because Fazza writes Not to impress, But to survive the silence of responsibility. His poems are not decorations — They are confessions. Each verse carries a wound, Each metaphor hides a truth, Each rhyme is a bridge Between duty and desire. He writes of love Like a man who understands loss. He writes of loyalty Like someone who has tested it. He writes of the desert Like a son returning home. O Fazza, You ride horses not to escape the world, But to remember how freedom feels. Your falcon does not obey you — It trusts you. Your people do not fear you — They recognize themselves in you. And that is the rarest crown of all. At night, when the city glows like a galaxy, When towers compete with stars, You look beyond the skyline Toward the quiet dunes. Because you know: Steel can rise, Gold can shine, But roots must remain underground To keep the tree alive. They call you modern, But your soul is ancient. They call you royal, But your heart is human. You kneel in prayer The same way your ancestors did, Knowing that even kings Are guests before God. And love — Ah, love in a Fazza poem Is never simple. It