Loving yourself is for infants

self-love
If you haven’t progressed beyond the concept of your self,
you’re infantile.
I know I am.
Here I am, grandiose with pomp and assuredness,
that I am beyond the pale of love,
and but a cup holds me hostage.

Still, it has to be said,
Stop people!
Just stop!
Ask these people who are promoting all this self love,
What they have accomplished,
Where they have been,
Who they have helped.
What they plan,
And you will always be met with a selfish checklist,
Of a person constantly looking to coax the flimsiness of their being,
With a lard of lies.

Unwilling to remove the vices,
Scrape away the rust of their longing to be recognised,
So instead,
They paint over flaking paint.
They appear well,
But they fall apart so easily.

Give up already with self love,
I propose a composed anger,
A hatred of all that is ugly in you,
But plan and toil, and with elbow grease,
Slave away at your ego,
Your prattling mind,
Your loose tongue,
Your soiled heart.
Work yourself to a lather,
And stop loving that which is unlovable.

Anyone who tells you you’re worthy of love,
Whilst not addressing your ugly traits is an imbecile,
Bent on your and their own destruction,
Turn your face from them and flee.

W.E.

how to lose me

 david-uzochukwu8how-to-lose-me

how to lose me

The moment I see her loving herself,
I wont,

that’s my job, not hers

W.E.

She hates herself with a paranoia fit for my attention.
What use am I if she becomes infatuated with herself,
comfortable, in love with her reflection,
deluded to perfection,
assuming she is accomplished.

I’ve never met a narcissist,
who had someone that cradled them,
with eyes that never blink away from them.

I never met someone that was broken,
truly broken, and manifest it in their state of being,
that didn’t have someone close by,
tending to their wounds.

There’s food for thought for you as to this state of never ending lies perpetuated to people about loving yourself.
If you love yourself that much, then the irony of self love is you remain alone, even with someone by your side, you’re still never with them and they with you.
Go on, keep on loving yourself, and complain of being alone, I’ve never heard of a thing so absurd.

W.E.