Riddle me this.

Thoughts flutter through my head
like bullets on butterfly wings.
I'm always afraid -
that you might hear my yearnings.

I swallow my thoughts,
they rarely come out screaming.
Then I lie in bed,
paralyzed by my ambitions.

I can't start a poem
without the word I in it.
I'm so obsessed
even I can see that I need to breathe
regularly.

Yet I hold my breath,
Hoping the rabbit would lead me someplace safe.
It's my fault, really.
No one said I should jump in the hole with it.

The scar tissue is so thick
even I can't feel what goes past it.
I'd like to keep it that way,
fear works well in certain situations.

Wrap your head around this little thread
I hold onto.
Its held my weight since day three eight four Oh.
Should I have more faith in it,
knowing it to be true but old too?

Riddle me this and ridde me that -
why does the little girl hold onto the thread?