I put this open book in your hands, Yet you don't return the favor, Not even a prologue, Having me run laps before the start of the race, Expecting me to retire, instead I never tire, Plotting on scaling the walls you've built, Wondering if once I am inside, I'll dream of my escape, Wanting to go against the goals I've set to try and set these relationships straight, Who are you feels not how I am, that difference could be the change seeked, This pace is not my speed, in a distant place far from my realm of comfort, Forcing me to confront my own insecurities, Wondering where you lead.