You could destroy me with everything you know.
You could tear down my careful reputation
with the secrets I willingly told you.
You could set fire to the comfortable life I’m living,
and have the flames engulf me too.

I don’t think it was healthy,
to  tell you that much.
I don’t think I should have told you
every one of my  d r e a m s
s e c r e t s ,
and  w i s h e s .  

But what was I supposed to do?
Every sign pointed that we had something real.
You helped me plant a garden in the shade
(it failed)
We ate popsicles on my front step
(they ruined my shirt)
You went swimming with me in the creek
(we hadn’t meant to get wet.)

You teased me when I slipped,
We both shared awkward glances at my sister’s questions,
I tried to get dirt out of your hair-
-you know, every time I see hair like yours I freeze.
It could be anyone, any length, anywhere, and I still stop dead.

I think you’ve ruined me without even whispering a word.

You never cared to much about my words, actually.
You didn’t care for my poems or my songs,
not more than politeness needed.
Politeness is one of your main qualities,
And like most polite people,
Honesty is not one of them.

I don’t know how I told you everything about me,
and you still didn’t know that the hard truth
would have hurt me less than the uncertainty
we’re now dangling in.
If you had just told me the truth-
I would have been okay with it.
Do you understand that?

I would have been more than okay with the truth.