Need you, I don’t.
My essence emanates from the sparkle within,
I depend no more on the borrowed smidgens of joy.
For my soul, not yours, defines me.
Every iota of my identity? Mine.
Want you, I don’t.
For my heart has bled enough,
Let me cease the agony,
Not that I can’t take anymore, but ‘cause I choose not to.
The discretion to hold on or let go? Mine.
Love you, I don’t. Anymore.
For in loving you I somehow loved myself less,
This heart of mine, ever so benign to me, let me favour it now.
It has been a saint for too long, let it sin just this once, let me be selfish just this once.
The heartbeats that define my existence? Mine.