I feel like you think of me
As a child.

Pat my head,
Kiss my cheek,
I'm cute sometimes
I'm funny sometimes

But I won't get what you think
I won't get what you feel.

You're proud of me occasionally,
But you won't ever lean on me,
Or let me help you.
I'm too broken myself
To help any part of you.

And I'd like to say,
That after each wall I break through
There's another and then another,
But there's only one or two I've gotten through.

Maybe I am just a little girl,
A child who's been too used
And too injured
To really get it,
But that doesn't mean I can't get it.

Though I understand the fear
Of opening up to anyone.

There was a lot of fear
When I opened up to you.
I just kind of thought,
At first,
"What do I have to lose?"

Apparently a lot.

I have a lot to lose.