Forgive me for not seeing the genius in you.
Forgive me when I made you stop touching all the books
slumped over, daydreaming, wasting time.
Forgive me for wishing your handwriting to looked better.
How frivolous that must seem to someone who is
producing prose that mesmerize.
Forgive me for thinking it was important for you to match colors
on your self –portrait.
Your eyes now stare back at me and I know how busy you must be.
how silly of me to think
I knew better.
Your eyes stare back at me and I now see what reality must be like;
so perfectly present and distorted by clarity.
Patterns must stand out to you
that others cannot see.
Vibrant, off-color and begging for attention.
They must scream for recognition and yet
I do not hear them.
Forgive me for interrupting.