I've never been great at loving people -

it's always been too little,

too late.

I've never mastered the art of spilling secrets,

of knowing who I am and what I want,

I've always taken and taken and taken,

until they're nothing but dust,

left alone to be swept up,

because one thing I'm good at is holding on.

I hold onto my feelings with a death grip,

I hoard them all in my body,

like a house flooded with so much junk,

the door refuses to open up,

and like all hoarders say,

'it's scary to give anything away.'

I've never been great at loving people -

it's always been a mess,

but you whispered in my ear with a voice so sincere,

'I can wait'