A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I said I’d sit and write, and I did it. 
Well, I sat and wrote and cried for a bit. 
And I had every intention of sending you the lines,
until I saw them in black and white.
And now I’m sitting here reading them back.
I know if I send them, just how you’ll react. 
My words are pure inner critic tonight
and I know that you’ll ask if she’s up for a fight.
She’s not.
She knows that her words are full of hot air.
She knows that I know it, and now she’s just scared.
She knows that deep down inside I am listening
to all of her lies and that’s why tears are glistening
because even if logic is screaming she’s wrong,
she knows that my feelings are where she is strong.
She knows that I feel like her lies are the truth
and she doesn’t want me to share this with you.
She’s threatened.
She starts to explain why these thoughts aren’t for sharing.
She doesn’t deny how your friendship is caring,
but she says I don’t really believe all her lines
so there’s no need to share what I know to be lies. 
She says that by now I should not be needing
help to challenge these thoughts I’m receiving. 
She says if I share them I’m clearly just fishing
for flattery. She says you’re secretly wishing
I won’t.
She says that you, and all of my friends
are sick of the circles I walk in my head.
She brings it all back to that failure she mentioned.
She says that no matter how good your intentions
you really don’t need to be bothered by these,
the thoughts and the feelings that threaten my peace.
These were meant to be the lines I could share,
but again she has hijacked my words. It’s not fair.
She knows.
And all that I’m doing is digging in deeper, 
I knew halfway through that this poem’s not a keeper. 
I’m not even sure why I’m still sitting, typing,
as though it might save me from all of her sniping,
when she knows damn well that I can’t share these verses
as all they will do is make it all worse,
because I should know better, and really I do,
than to think that her whispers are safe around you.
They’re not.