Just a "deep thinker", pondering my own particular weirdness

“You are a deep thinker”, she said with a grin.
It’s what you say to an adorably over-anxious child
and I realize I’ve just dissected about five hypothetical layers.
I guess I’m that child, feeling everything too deeply,
thinking everyone else’s thoughts,
feeling everyone else’s feelings…
But how can they ignore them so?
 
I suspect I can be overwhelming.  
Say a kind word and I’ll be your forever friend.
Tell me what moves you and I’ll fall hopelessly in love.
Be mean to me and I’ll try to feed you my peace,
heaping hot coals of kindness on your head
to burn through your anger and soothe the fear inside.
 
I think I can be annoying.
I’ll poke you when you’re busy to make you laugh or reflect,
for no reason other than I’m thinking of you.
Always worrying whether it brings you cheer or frustration  
but I figure, if I was thought of,  
once in a while it would be nice to know.
 
I know I’m definitely confusing.
I mean what I say, but I don’t say all that I mean.
I’ll hand you a tiny piece of my soul
without ever letting on that it’s anything special.
(I wouldn’t want to alarm you or burden you with its care.)
But I want you to see and know it,
so I toss it casually at your feet.
It will hurt when you walk on it
but you won’t know, and I won’t blame you.
Bruises from your footsteps  
are better than no touch at all.
 
Maybe it’s all a test to see  
if you’ll find me worthy of notice,
if you’ll value the glimpses I show.
Maybe I learned to make myself small,
while wanting you to search for the bigness inside

Or maybe I’m just thinking too deep again.