The hazy hours, the break of dawn.
The candlelight kindling your living room.
The ardour of your fingertips, brushing my palm.
The question you asked me, hanging in doom.
"There's something I need to clarify, contest this but don't ask why.
Could you list five things you like about yourself?
The light is green, give it a try."
The shadows of lashes painting my skin.
My downcast eyes saturate to the brim.
The blocks in my head, the lump in my throat,
Why haven't I an answer to this simple poll?
Stuffed with self-loathing?
Weighted with doubt?
Could that be the root of my soft-pedal mouth?
I made a bid,
I lifted a finger,
The answer never came, the longer I lingered.
"Your silence has met my expectations.
I can't ask you for your love if you can't give it to yourself.
I can't pick up the tessera to put back on the shelf.
The mosaic is your own, here's the polish and a crown,
I'll stand by and watch, to fault my preconceptions.
I'll stand by and wait, in anticipation."
A typical "I can't love you if you don't love yourself" scenario.
Don't fall for it, it's *******. Everyone deserves to be loved.