Count Me In

Midwest Emo, Cinematic, Alternative Metal, Christmas, Funk, dark festive, Emo Pop, alt-pop, holiday

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The tree is a rumor of pine and paper, tinsel braided into the same old alibis.
Outside, the city polishes its excuses,
inside, I rehearse the smile I put on for the holidays.

I wrapped last year in leftover ribbon, wrote “hope” in tiny print.
Tucked it in a stocking labeled “maybe later.”
Gingerbread houses ignored my knocking, their sugar walls collapsed polite,
coal in the corners wearing better packaging than my plans.
I wore my “I’m good” like a sweater bought two sizes too small,
hands shoved where warmth should be, pretending fabric is fellowship.
(ohhh, watch me host my own winter parade), confetti made of take-backs.

This month keeps a calendar of things I didn’t say,
every invite a test I fail politely.
Then you appear like an unsent postcard and I forget to be suspicious.

Count me in, don’t mark me down as “maybe” on your list.
Count me in, stay when the chorus gets loud and the world loosens its grip.
Count me in. bring your coat and leave the map folded on the seat.
(Count me in, count me in, count me in)

We pass the same lights like they owe us meaning, smile and move on.
You hand me a hot drink like mercy disguised as caffeine,
and my city-sized panic forgets the street.
(I used to) keep a ledger of exits, routes memorized down to the curb,
but your laugh is a GPS that refuses re-routing.
You point at a window, say “we’ll fit,” 
and somehow chairs rearrange to prove you right.
(Who knew furniture could be diplomatic?)

I tell myself to be self-sufficient; I lecture my own fear.
You keep showing up, margin after margin, reading the scribbles where I hid my want.

Count me in, don’t treat me like an optional footnote.
Count me in, be the only invitation I don’t question.
Count me in, if you stay, I’ll stop practicing departures.
(Count me in, count me in, count me in)

If this is a miracle, let it be small and heavy, something practical,
like staying on the couch.
If it’s risk, let it be the kind that learns to do laundry and keep names in the address book.

You saved a seat at the table I’d already marked “no vacancy.”
You made room like a carpenter who believes in imperfect homes.
I’m half apology and half confession, all the good parts I hid in pockets.
Teach me how to lean without falling into old exits.

I’m tired of checking the door every hour.
I want a season that answers when I call.

So stay. Stay. Stay, don’t file me under “maybe” anymore.
Count me in, keep the noise and the warmth and the small promises.
Count me in, if midnight asks for witnesses, let us be two in the crowd.

We never had to be fireworks, just two lamps that refuse to give up.
You fold your coat around my elbows and claim the night like a small country.

Don’t forget me at the door. Don’t forget to come home.
(Count me in, count me in, count me in)

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜!💙
✦༺❖༻✦༺❖༻✦༺❖༻✦

3261/7500

╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━✦༺✦༻✦━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄, 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂, 𝑳𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒔 & 𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐄 © 2025 © 2025 All Rights Reserved 𝙎𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡𝙨 ＋ 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙮: https://hyperfollow.com/JUSIME ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━✦༺✦༻✦━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ Available now on other streaming services in enhanced quality!💙💚 https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/jusime/count-me-in The tree is a rumor of pine and paper, tinsel braided into the same old alibis. Outside, the city polishes its excuses, inside, I rehearse the smile I put on for the holidays. I wrapped last year in leftover ribbon, wrote “hope” in tiny print. Tucked it in a stocking labeled “maybe later.” Gingerbread houses ignored my knocking, their sugar walls collapsed polite, coal in the corners wearing better packaging than my plans. I wore my “I’m good” like a sweater bought two sizes too small, hands shoved where warmth should be, pretending fabric is fellowship. (ohhh, watch me host my own winter parade), confetti made of take-backs. This month keeps a calendar of things I didn’t say, every invite a test I fail politely. Then you appear like an unsent postcard and I forget to be suspicious. Count me in, don’t mark me down as “maybe” on your list. Count me in, stay when the chorus gets loud and the world loosens its grip. Count me in. bring your coat and leave the map folded on the seat. (Count me in, count me in, count me in) We pass the same lights like they owe us meaning, smile and move on. You hand me a hot drink like mercy disguised as caffeine, and my city-sized panic forgets the street. (I used to) keep a ledger of exits, routes memorized down to the curb, but your laugh is a GPS that refuses re-routing. You point at a window, say “we’ll fit,” and somehow chairs rearrange to prove you right. (Who knew furniture could be diplomatic?) I tell myself to be self-sufficient; I lecture my own fear. You keep showing up, margin after margin, reading the scribbles where I hid my want. Count me in, don’t treat me like an optional footnote. Count me in, be the only invitation I don’t question. Count me in, if you stay, I’ll stop practicing departures. (Count me in, count me in, count me in) If this is a miracle, let it be small and heavy, something practical, like staying on the couch. If it’s risk, let it be the kind that learns to do laundry and keep names in the address book. You saved a seat at the table I’d already marked “no vacancy.” You made room like a carpenter who believes in imperfect homes. I’m half apology and half confession, all the good parts I hid in pockets. Teach me how to lean without falling into old exits. I’m tired of checking the door every hour. I want a season that answers when I call. So stay. Stay. Stay, don’t file me under “maybe” anymore. Count me in, keep the noise and the warmth and the small promises. Count me in, if midnight asks for witnesses, let us be two in the crowd. We never had to be fireworks, just two lamps that refuse to give up. You fold your coat around my elbows and claim the night like a small country. Don’t forget me at the door. Don’t forget to come home. (Count me in, count me in, count me in) 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜!💙 ✦༺❖༻✦༺❖༻✦༺❖༻✦

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