She Never Really Knows Me Poem by Ludolf Dauphin

She never really
knows me
Just an illusion
she created,
framed in her mind
Of a fierce warrior
full of compassion
and grace
Gentle as a dove

To be different
and know oneself
as opposed to herself
Like others who appear to be
but are no more than you and I
Knowing who I am
Not once did I mislead her,
nor claimed to be an epic poem
rather than free verse.

She was the one changing.
All the while, my true essence bleed.
The inner and outer might look different
And yet, are so much of the same.
It is no one's fault but hers.
She thinks I am like
the other men she knows
but far from them, I am.
Though still human
No two branches are the same
For now, my eyes see everything
Mouth sealed, arms crossed.

Like her, a hollow moon
once tried to induce me
But failed to identify my heart
as the night passed

heart wounded but blooming
like cherry blossoms
in spring

So I danced the night away
Slept the morning before
then after,
Intoxicated in between,
I am still me.
I am a living,
breathing vagabond, amongst
the self-proclaimed perfectionist.

Still unknown to her
She must know that
Someone has to convince her
I said all I need to say
It is true.
It won't be me
but someone has to
For her sake, I hope.
Someone has to convince her.
Someone has to convince her.