The speaker looks back on a stretch of life spent in online arguments, the kind the title, "Keyboard warrior," points to. The first lines are full of self-mockery. Carrying a cross "like a prize" suggests someone who treated suffering as a badge of honor, and bleeding "ink and coffee" shrinks that martyrdom down to late-night typing and caffeine. Even the word "war" gets flattened: it "evened out" with "discourse," as if shouting and conversation had become the same thing. The line "I spoke but did not see" is the confession at the center, since all that talking came with a kind of blindness.
Then the poem turns. "But at night in the garden" brings a hush after the noise, and the speaker's thoughts go to "you." We don't learn who that is, but the shift is clear. The mood moves from restless and a little ashamed to quiet and tender, as though something real finally breaks through the posturing.