You must admit, you fooled me first
but even now, I begin the story by blaming you.
I must rewrite the narrative meaning I must take blame
and I am not in the habit of taking anything but Walmart rings and other people's clothes.
That includes yours.

I gave them back, of course. Swifter than I typically do.
I hold on to things that help me dream of what is not mine.
I can finally admit to myself

'You make mistakes'
                (You are the problem)
I am the problem,
I am the issue
but most everything I do is presumably done with love.

I am so blind that this is what I think is love.