**This piece contains some cussing. Ohhh ah!**
It seems a bit warped to me that we can rant about hating politicians and lying corporate money grabbers for days
But me standing up here genuinely telling you that I love myself seems a little insane.
Hate is acceptable, but self-love’s insane? Really? Really?
But I do, love myself, and it seems about time that someone broke through the fragile shell that you’ve been resolutely maintaining, under the brilliantly flawed premise of not letting your ego swell
This is not about ego
Ego is about the slavish devotion to caring what others think
Self-love is the antidote
Because when I don’t need you to love me, when I don’t need you to validate my genius
Fuck, I can’t tell you how liberating this is!
I would fuck me.
I would wife me.
I would delight every night in the fact that I get to take me to bed.
Because I’m crazy like that!
Crazy in a world where normality means kowtowing to some bullshit version of mediocrity.
Crazy in a world where the majority are fed on a mainline drip of insecurity
Selling pills, potions, devices and lotions
Imagined ills, conjured maladies
That all scream out a version of ‘Somebody love me!’
Love. your. self.
You are the only one who’s been here through all of this.
You’re the only one who knows what it feels like to be in your bliss
You’re the only one you’ve taken to bed each and every night
The only one who lights up with the spark of your particular vision.
The only one who can hear the elusive whisper of the path you, and only you, have been given.
They don’t know you.
Even the closest can only recite an imperfect list of things they’ve previously seen, conjecture on who you might have been, and predictions on who you might become
Even the closest has only ever seen the results, not the intimate, inner machinations
The sacred self work that demands regular, deep observation
No matter how articulate you are, you will always fail to explain yourself
Luckily, your self need not be explained.