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 ******* 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 **** how tangled my hair is
or what weird religious doctrines you follow.
Let's have a conversation,
not an unruly **** 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.