Theakman2

I sit and get down to work, And you ask me who I am. You ask me who I am and why I am myself. You ask me to explain myself to you, But I have done nothing wrong, I didn't anger you, or even speak to you. Yet this doesn't matter to you. Now you're refusing to back down, Wanting me to explain myself to you. I'm not shocked though, Because this is not the first time, Nor the second or even twelfth. I know why you ask me, why you don't understand me. But you need to realize my friend, That some people are just not like you. Some want to sit with friends, To talk through their problems. But others do not wish this on them, for it

I ask nothing from you, Yet you ask everything from me. You wish to know my heart, my love, my dreams, But I don't want to share what I am yet For I can not say for sure what I am. You wish me to become your ideal, To share my being, my soul and my mind. You're not being fair to me, as I'm being to you. I don't ask for you to be like me, to become my ideal. To keep everything to yourself. To think too much, to distance yourself too much. I would never ask that of you, Because I know that's not who you are. So why do you torment me? Why do you ask me to become like you, to be your ideal? If you ask me, that's unfair. Let's call