I
now I know I love you
when I heard you sad because of me;
I realize things too late
and make due with writing poetry
to read or think on when
I cannot call or hold you with me;
my thoughts may wander briefly
but I will always love you truly.
II
when did my heart become so armored
that I couldn’t feel a thing?
like what I do or say to make you hurt
and never feel it sting me like it should.
did I disremember to knock on wood
when I found that I was enamored with you?
all I know is how you were curt
and I knew that I had made you cry;
I felt stupid not knowing why.
III
in the darkness
of being insensitive
perhaps I will light
my way with my task
of understanding
what I always
do
wrong.
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