The Truth

This can be a letter.
Perhaps an open book.
My prose is much too simple,
Despite how long it took.

Please suffer through the
Weeping of this ordinary tale
And let me confess to all the world
How often that I fail.

I make a declaration,
Then as fast again repeat
Conduct that dishonors me
And chokes me in defeat

Despise me if you must, indeed;
‘Till now I never knew.
How my wretched sinful mood
Crushed the love in you.

I am sorry.