Poem: I don't, but when do I?

I don't, but when do I?

And if I did, what of it,
and maybe there is a way,
or not so much.  Who says
it is either or both or neither
and not anything else,
not all the other things, too.
I can explain it 
and make it clear
but only be being misunderstood.
I don't have more than that.
I don't think there is more,
not for this.  I don't know why
I am writing when it is clear to me
that it was already over
or should not have begun, maybe?
I suppose that is a bad thing to admit.
I have to, though, or I feel I must.
It seems proper, given the rest.

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