𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢

i don't understand
how people could hate you
when they don't even
know you.
i fail to see
what is so wrong with you.
i fail to understand
why i need to stay away.
but then again,
it is i who plays piano
and thinks of you.
it is i who writes poetry
with you in mind.
it is i who scans a room
for your face first.
it is i who has become
infatuated with what you do
simply because it is you
who is doing it.
it is i who cares so deeply
for you
and wonders if you even know
anything beyond my name.