I think it's my eyes.
The glowing hazle stare
blankly piercing through
whatever bubbles you've shielded
yourself with.
Arms crossed means you're defensive,
raised tone towards the end of a sentence
means you're lying
but when your lips scrunch together
you're holding back something.

Maybe it's
my thought process.
One second
I'm talking about polar bears
celebrating birthdays with cocaine and hexagrams
when I shift
to a rant about my self empowerment
through meditation and how astral travel
might be real.  

Perhaps I'm too comfortable
with myself for you to handle.
I don't give a shit how tangled my hair is
or what weird religious doctrines you follow.
Let's have a conversation,
not an unruly dick measuring contest.

I truly love you,
and all my mild frustration
and slight agitation is radiating
from a place in my heart
that tells me I want you to succeed the most.