Maybe it’s easier to embrace emptiness,  
to let loneliness hold me,  
than to keep asking why I’m never enough.  
Not too much, not too little—  
I just want to exist,  
wholly and unapologetically as myself.  
But even that feels like too much to ask.  

I don’t want to speak of broken hearts,  
of dreams abandoned in the dark.  
I don’t want to bend beneath the weight  
of your expectations,  
constantly reshaping,  
becoming something I’m not.  

The fear of being hurt again  
gnaws at me like a relentless tide,  
wearing me down,  
until I’m hollow,  
a ghost of who I used to be.  
I drown myself in another drink,  
hoping to blur the ache,  
but all I see is the fractured reflection  
of a person I barely recognize.  

I don’t want to be a placeholder,  
something you keep close  
until you find what you’re really looking for.  
I don’t want to linger in the shadows,  
waiting for love that never comes.  
I don’t want to be forgotten,  
reduced to a fleeting memory,  
like I was never more than a passing thought.  

I don’t want to carry the impossible weight  
of perfection,  
to mold myself into an image  
that feels like a stranger.  
I don’t want a love built on uncertainty,  
a fragile dance where every step  
feels like falling through glass.  

I don’t want to compete  
with the ghosts of your past—  
the faces you admire,  
the laughter you share with others,  
the moments you give so freely  
to everyone but me.  
I don’t want to stand in the background,  
always reaching,  
always falling short.  

I don’t want to be your experiment,  
a fleeting curiosity.  
I don’t want to shrink myself  
to fit the narrow spaces  
where you’re comfortable.  
I don’t want to hold back  
out of fear that being real  
will be too much for you to bear.  

I don’t want to sit across from you,  
watching your gaze drift,  
your thoughts wander to places  
I can’t follow.  
I don’t want to beg for your attention,  
your touch,  
your care,  
when it’s your absence that wounds me most.  

I don’t want to believe  
that my love is a burden.  
I don’t want to see myself  
through the filter of your indifference.  
I don’t want to keep breaking,  
changing,  
rebuilding myself  
to fit a shape  
that was never meant for me.  

I want to be more than a convenience,  
more than an afterthought.  
I want to stop living in fear—  
fear that one day you’ll leave  
without a word,  
without a glance back.  

I want to be seen,  
not just for the pieces I show,  
but for the storms and softness  
I keep hidden.  
I want you to see my chaos,  
my flaws,  
my scars,  
and still stay.  

I want to be loved  
not for what I give,  
but for who I am—  
messy, imperfect, real.  
I want a love  
that doesn’t make me question  
my worth.  
A love that doesn’t leave me  
feeling like I have to disappear  
just to make space.  

I want to stop aching for a love  
that asks me to be less,  
and start believing  
I’ve always been enough.  

I want to find in your eyes  
what I’ve lost in myself—  
the good,  
the worthy,  
the light I can’t always see.  

I want to feel held  
not because I’m flawless,  
but because I’m whole.  
I want a love  
that heals the broken pieces,  
that mends without asking me  
to tear myself apart.  
I want to stop fighting for space  
in a world that made me feel small,  
and finally know  
I am worthy,  
just as I am.