untitled, or a conversation with myself

I beg myself to forget how I became 16 again, first when I was 20, and then again at 37. I remind myself his Leo ways were shiny, charming. Glinty warm sands imperceptibly became tar coating my lungs. Drowning me. I beg myself not to let myself get too lonely. I am the Katy Perry song covered by Amythyst Kiah in the Tennessee hills. I tell myself, “Remember when you were expressive. Blinders helped him opt out of seeing you. Forget when love gushed from your blood and exited through your pores into the ether, into his face. He kept himself from being overwhelmed by your love. He only loved how you made him feel.” I beg myself, “Don’t get too lonely because even after years he still won’t know.” And 16 is no longer how I want to feel.