“Selfing”

My dreams are an aphid —
each achievement
the epitome of a telescopic pregnancy.

Fully conscious of progress,
borderline boastful —
evolved enough to admit
I sometimes do the wrong things
for the right reasons.
A self-aggrandising saviour complex
I’ve grown passive about.

I reflect so much
I no longer see the need for mirrors.
Trying to be intentional
about everything
only to complicate everything —
and yet, I still remind myself:
“it is that deep.”

I write because it validates
and regulates me.
I do good unto others
because it fulfils me.
I live in the light
as much as I can.

I have curated my life
to serve others but not myself —
I am the main character
trying to decenter himself.