I had the thought 

that if you could see me in my private moments

that you may fall in love with my reactions;

how I feel 

when a smile cracks across the face of the squirmy boy

I'm helping read a book when I say

"I'm so impressed!"
If you could see

when I'm packed away in traffic

covering rap verses like I own the pain 

      or party they were inspired by, 

how my eyes stare off into a mental sea

     & come back to think of something funny, 

how I rest my head on top of a fat, familiar dog 

or even that long sigh before I step in the shower,

I had the thought that this could make you love me;

if you could see

how I want to share my love-

       but it's uncomfortable 

    for me too,

because I feel like it can't all fit,

     it's too much to carry,

it's too heavy for you;

     what was meant to hold you

chokes your definition of it.

But while it always felt like it was suffocating you,

I felt like I was speaking a different language, 

one you were never taught,

      one you avoided understanding,
& you don't want to read it,
       you don't want to see.