sonnet It shouldve struck incited

It shouldve struck incited straight at start
I shouldve propagated you the pain
Of pains in life I knew nought naive and vain
Instead I caught a sharp edge little art
You dither dawdle dodge your deep eyes dart
You cling to childhood hurt exclusive bane
You ape the perfect man I meant to gain
You force inferior fun you know inane
I gave off modesty and gentleness
I granted clemency and droll endured
And still you sinned I reckoned wrong you cured
You sulked in dearth you certified a mess
Three days I kept mute my amazing voice
I let in laughter penance paid your choice
Chorus voice voce voix