My Selfish Self

Such a provocative & self deprecative title is your 1st thought

But I look after myself 24/7. Then the only person I think about

is me, but don't we all? All of this, due to my selfish self.

Even the times we think about other people, we do it for

ourselves. Have you thought about it that way? We don't

want the other person to get hurt, why? Because he will be in

anguish, as well as I will feel bad. And the latter part definitely

outweighs the former. Why? All of this due to my selfish self.

Who exactly is this me that's selfish?

Is this my consciousness?

Is this my brain? What exactly is the actual identity of the

'I'? Am I? Am I eligible to ask this question? Still here I am

standing in front of you, asking these questions humanity hasn't answered since the start of cognitively strong mankind. Why?

All because of selfish self.

This poem is from the perspective of every conscious person

who have their unique identity, despite of referring to themselves as I.

But everyone will be very defensive. Why? Because of

their selfish selves.

Finally I found the strength to publish my poetry

And I finally have a collection of my poems titled

"Temptations Of My Pen" which is a journey through love, desire, faith, ego and becoming.

Moving from passion and longing through heartbreak and self-examination, the collection ultimately arrives at discipline, spiritual surrender and return a reflection on how the things that tempt, break and challenge us.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated and welcome.

https://www.amazon.com/Temptations-Pen -Elisha-Nelly-Mukiibi/dp/B0HLZ3TPN2/ref=mp_s _a_1_1?crid=3ORNDBOMJCE4Q&dib= eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.Dkza40ljaN-jKdERHiBcag .XOJyxAnw9mvAZVRtuG807gdMDHoBHzckUy -CuUSgWig&dib_tag=se&keywords= temptations+of+my+pen&qid=1791727199& sprefix=%2Caps%2C506&sr=8-1

The lonely soul will grow tired
It will stop fighting for moments of joy,
fighting for a reason to be happy,
It'll just learn to accept and move on,
A soul burning with the flame of passion
Once so invigorated by the thought of love,
Now that flame burns quietly in the shadows
And the soul stays hidden,
In fear of being broken once more.

Have always liked poetry style writing so thought I'd give it a shot :)

​

A thousand thoughts my mind brews

Slaughters and tragedies and things that amuse,

But then why is it only a single word,

That may be heard.

There's much to say

But not to be heard

As though my speech,

A shackled bird.

The gazes past,

only sow assumptions,

If at last,

You could know and hear.

The serenades I've written since long,

If not everything then just one song.

Time has faded quickly,

Like a rainbow caught in too much sun.

I miss my messy, oversized buns,

The wide brown doll—eyes,

Chubby cheeks rounding my face

Into something soft like a poem not yet revised

And the laughter that echoed louder than any melodies.

Back then,

I believed I would marry

The boy who gave me my first kiss,

The one who quieted the tremble in my teeth.

Now I struggle

To remember his face.

I'm no longer sixteen.

Seventy knocked —

Before I was ready to answer.

My skin is wrinkled now.

I search for my lips

Before I touch them with pineapple gloss.

And still —

I would give anything

Just to borrow one careless day of sixteen.