You sit there looking smug,
Across the table, a mile away
Yet close enough to push your way in,
Interfering in many lives and dreams,
Places you're not welcome.

You are a stranger to me,
A quick handshake and friendly smile,
But when you grasp my hand,
It all changes, You
walk in my mind and memories,
Creases in my palm are your
pathways to my life,
the windows you peek in,
the doors you like to listen through,
The kind that makes you know,
Makes you notice the details,
I don't even recognise,

That's how you operate,
Meddling in people's affairs,
Getting a taste of their problems,
Yet running at the first hurdle,
The glass ball shows you the things
you want to see, But
fails to show you the positive,
I do not need to be shown the future,

Because I can control my life.