Remember when we hadn’t a clue
Who put the butterknife
In the jam jar,
And you asked me, privately,
And I shook my shoulders,
Told you it wasn’t me.
Well…
I’m sorry for another memory
That one near valentines when
You lovingly prepared a date,
Balloons, handmade cards and
Bow-wrapped gifts.
I was hungover, I guess ungrateful
And an hour late.
Do you remember when I promised
To do it that winter?
But as nights drew cold and dark
There still was a missing piece
On your finger.
Whatever I said: it was me,
Nobody else but me.
It was me; it was me;
It was me.
-
Author:
R.J. Finnerty (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 27th, 2026 11:47
- Comment from author about the poem: Young responsibility
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments3
Fessing up to what one did is an important part of moving on. A lovely piece that ends so well with the last lines giving the feeling of remorse.
The little things add up don't they?
Every little bit makes a difference
Keep going, Ryan/Finnerty - I'm sure there's much more in your cache to be revealed yet.
Haha thank you. More to come, definitely.
It's a wonderful thing to be able to just be honest and take responsibility for our actions, a quality many are missing. It enables people to move on, repair damage and build trust. Nicely written with a sense of remorse at the end, hat's off to you, enjoyed the read.
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