Joystyless's poem is a plain-spoken confession from someone who wants to feel and can't. The speaker keeps repeating "I wish" and "I need," listing small physical things: a kiss, a held hand, a heartbeat that speeds up. Those wishes suggest numbness, as if closeness is something the speaker can picture but not reach. They also want to borrow the other person's thoughts, hoping them to drown out their own painful ones.
The middle of the poem turns blunt. The speaker admits it's hard to love someone who doesn't love themselves, then dismisses the old advice that you must love yourself first with a single curt "bullshit." That rawness feels honest rather than polished. Even so, the speaker says "I love you," despite the lack of feeling. The ending stays tentative, full of "maybe." The mood is aching and vulnerable, but a thin thread of hope remains, the chance that feeling might return.