You know the good luck card I made you?

Yeah, the one I photographed and sent.

That one. I kept the original, well,

I used to, anyway. Not anymore.

I tore it up a few minutes ago

Hating you for keeping me up tonight

And hating myself for letting you.

You have no right to do this, to question

My inability to open up, not when

You know exactly why I can’t.

And your solution is to push the issue more

Forcing it down my throat when

All I wanted was a hug, not

A fucking psychoanalysis of who I am.

You can sit in your bedroom chair and

Judge me all you like, I don’t care

But the moment you overstep the boundaries

Reading my poetry, my single outlet,

As a means of knowing me rather than

Letting me grow accustomed to being honest,

Being forthright with you, that’s when

You’ve gone too far for me to let it slide.

It doesn’t matter if I’m worth the effort

Or if you care so much you just need to know.

My poems are my source of relief, and

When you read them, it’s as if...you’re taking

Away the one thing that keeps me sane.

My writing is my life, and I can’t have you

Reading it, it’s not there to be analysed

And searched for hidden meanings,

It’s my way of being irrational without hurting anyone

And if you read it, you’re depriving me of that.

You’re going too fast for me, and

I’m not making excuses because I don’t want to tell you

It’s because I’m uncomfortable

And we need to slow down.

You can’t rush me here or you’ll lose me

To the person I used to be.

I won’t leave you, I’ll just withdraw

Do as you please and hate myself for it.

I don’t want that sort of relationship

So I wish you’d trust me long enough to realise

That I can’t just tell you everything;

That’s not how I deal with things.

I can’t just change because you ask me to,

I won’t make promises I can’t fulfil

If I’m worth the effort, slow it down

And emotional intimacy will come with time.