A Therapists Dream

I'm a dream for a therapist Except I'm unable to express my pain in person, But on paper I have no issue with sharing it I've battled depression for too long to hear "life is too short, you should cherish it" There's so much going on in my mind, I'm a dream for a therapist I don't talk in person, I Clam up My heart is aching and my mind is bleeding What's worse?, no reason to rhyme, or no rhyme or reason? Say what you want about me, But when I make a mistake i hold my Hands up I don't want to talk to a stranger about such and such To hear, "as a child Alex, you weren't hugged enough You didn't get love, because your parents needed to fill up their cups" Because I'll lash out and say who are you to Judge my stuff? What qualifies you to tell me how I should feel about what you haven't been through? because you've got a certificate I'm supposed to just show all of me to you? Sorry but that won't happen, i'm too guarded and that will never change How can you claim to understand when you didn't feel my pain? I refuse to open up to a stranger, I barely do it with people I know I've got so much hidden, What I write on my pad is all I will show There's stuff buried in my heart that will die with me that I don't want to share I thought I was a therapists dream, but I'd actually be a therapists nightmare