Self-obsessed

I love my smile,
I like my nose,
I’m fond of all my pictures—
of each carefully or carelessly crafted pose.

I think of myself,
I believe in self-care.
Regret is a stranger;
I choose with flair.

I am not selfish,
I have empathy for all.
But you can’t play with me—
I’m not a doll.

Saying “yes” easily is my choice,
but I can also take a loyalty test.
And if my “no” offends you,
feel free to call me self-obsessed!

‘Are you listening to me, Mumma?’

Won’t you use your hands to soothe my head
And remove all the stress accumulated there?
This relentless streak of ever-surprising obstacles,
One after the other, makes my life arduous.

Will Daddy understand the depth of this struggle?
Will I even be able to articulate it to him?
I love him dearly, but love and understanding are distinct.
I know only you can – only you can empathize with this heartache.

You can hear my silence.
Are you listening to me, Mumma?
Hug me tightly.