I could tell her everything by reading her my poems' titles,
or, instead, I could read to her a few poems.

Then I could tell her how my mind races
but never places.

Then I could tell her what he did to me,
though she'd still be grossed out

because she's so innocent at heart.
I want to tell her,

but I'm afraid, because
I don't want to break her.

Though I know it's more for me than her,
I just don't want to scare her.