Don't you want me to love me?

Then stop saying the things you say,
Doing the things you do,
Handing out ambitions like they are candies,
am I sweet enough for you?

Don't you want me to love me?

Then stop placating me with dreams,
Dreams of what cannot be,
Pretending as though they are mutual,
what epiphanies do you see?

Don't you want me to love me?

Then do not speak on my behalf,
Words of false affirmation,
Silencing my sharp, jagged tongue
can you hear my trepidation?

Don't you want me to love me?

Then feel these feelings as I do!
Feel the callous of my heart,
Separating the person from the enigma,
do you feel me come apart?

Don't you want me to love me?

How can I love what you don't know?
Or love what was never real,
Reaching out for who I'll never be,
do you understand my ordeal?

Don't you want me to love me?

Don't you want me to love me?

Don't you want me to love me?

Don't you—

I'm so nostalgic these days
and I know you've heard that all before
the whole "I'm listening to old songs on repeat
and re-reading the broken stories I keep
to find myself again" thing—but hear me out.
No, this time I really mean it
Nostalgia is not a dark cloud lingering above my head
but a thunderstorm rumbling below my feet
and every moment of every day I'm tumbling through it
and trying to pretend I don't see concrete
hurdling towards me
like it has some twisted sense of vengeance,
some sort of hunger for my life.
And occasionally perhaps I can forget how broken I feel, and be content with what this is.
But this is a small life and it's an even smaller smile
when laughing at your jokes but turning up a noise-dial
in my head
so that I don't have to hear myself think
let alone breathe
over the chatter about how unremarkable I've become.

There's no sanctity to my mind,
no peace in my heart,
and no rest for my spirit.

So I'm nostalgic,
and yes, I mean it.
I'm listening to old songs on repeat.
Combing through ancient poems and pictures;
staring at a face that once upon a time, shared my likeness—
but now she mirrors my demons.

'I love you, you know that?'
I say as I
brush his hair
behind his ear,
tear my gaze
from his own,
take two steps back,
don't look back,
         and finally let him go