She says you’re shallow
and you know you are
but you don’t know just which shallow
she knows you are.

Obviously, you’re afraid to ask,
not just because that would admit
that you don’t know how you’re shallow
(which, as stated, you certainly do.
You are shallow
in such a multitude of ways it’s funny.
So funny, in fact,
it’s sad,
but she thinks it should be obvious
how you’ve been proven shallow to her,
and you are not smart enough to puzzle that out).
You are frightened to death
that she just might tell you.

She could blow a charge
in your placid pool
killing all the guppies of your well-being
or… maybe the flounders of foundational knowledge
or perhaps the grouper of germane agreeability.
You didn’t know what you’re talking about.
You didn’t know what she was talking about
and you didn’t think you want to.

You’re scared as shit, aren’t you?

She probably knows that, too.

You are so out of your depth.