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I-sun Mar 2021
Don't be egoist
Get back to me
Don't think about others' thought
Come back to me
Like the coldest winter going to spring
Or maybe the warmest spring going back to winter
🌨️🌤️
Harmony  Nov 2015
Ego Goes
Harmony Nov 2015
When too full of self
When too hasty to bring
All attention to self
No limit to singing
Of glories of self
To the self-serving egoist

Ego dwells in all
Serves a purpose over time
Ego screams and hollers
Like one stuck in slime,
When it is time to let go
Go it must for the good of all

Just thank and let it go
Promise it is for the best
That the ego that lets go
Finds peace to reside within
All tamed and mature
To tell many a story
To the future progeny

When too full of self
When too hasty to bring
All attention to self
No limit to singing
Of glories of self
To the self-serving egoist
Since you kissed me I have lost everything to you. Those scarlet lips was carved beautifully; your brown eyes and its exquisite complexion captivates me; and your voice lit up something inside me

I am astonished by your beauty, like an art
Everything that you say inspires me, like a spell
I want all of you only for myself, like an egoist


I wonder if my eyes are too naĂŻve sometimes
You kept saying that you are not good enough; you are not pretty, and you are not just the way I see you.
You know I am just happy to see you—feel insecure
With that I could have you
All for my self
MissNeona  Sep 2014
Egoist Empath
MissNeona Sep 2014
What is this, is this empathy?
I can feel your pain - it's all about me,
I don't want to be the one in equal pain,
When there is no experience that I have to gain,
From hearing your words, your story,
For the most part, I'd find it boring.
But you recant it with such fervour,
That in protest I dare not murmur,
The urgency in which I want it to halt,
Neither of us are at fault,
You want to connect, to tell me your past,
I'm really just hoping the tale does not last,
It hurts, these feels, I have for you,
Your wounds are old, but for me they are new.
Dondaycee  Aug 2018
Pride
Dondaycee Aug 2018
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
When I fingered the thin skin on my left, vein-bulging limb
Where the forearm adheres to the costly little hand
I realized in all my intense ardor for pain
That there in my penitence, self-pity, self-loathe
I am a narcissist.
Laden with self-obsessed sorrow
There is a selfishness in being a dreary,
To feel for oneself,
When others care too much
An aggregation of sympathizing sobs and tears
Too much for an egoist
Who would rather wallow alone
In the orange-tinted hue of twilight turned nightfall
A ray of the luster in all subtle shades,
Can I summon the force to recall
Why I hate myself
Is it not that all despise me for a purpose?
And those who are inept at reasonable loathe
Are marooned in deep shame
That they had degraded themselves for what?
For a felon? Such as myself?
Deep in such sorrow,
Deep in my self-loathe
I have encountered the truth of all fruitless self-regard
I am a narcissist, egoist, one who self-loathes
Who slashes and severs and cannot speak love
"Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that ***** gray turmoil to follow love and pride, a new generation dedicated  more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken..."

"I know myself," he cried, "but that is all."
Poetry is the altruistic apogee of the individualistic emotional egoist.

The lack of feeling, and the lack of empathy,
the petty attempt to hide them with creativity.

It’s truly astonishing how we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re kind
When we’re just wasting our time, pretending to see when we’re blind.

How could we ever emulate our chemical imbalances on one another?
The only way to do it is the kindly overrated feeling of love and affection.
And why would we need words, if we’re sure about our love for each other?
Oh, we’re puzzled to believe that our puny poetry represents felt perfection.

Yet we just walk through the valleys of lyricism,
Lost in our own wishes for joy or demise
And yet we become shadows of perfectionism
Filled with the detachment we criticize.

Our representation is our perdition
We've lost ourselves in our own mission.
Not particularly proud of the fourth quatrain.
Lendon Partain Mar 2013
Feeling crazier each day.
Schitzoid, Bulimic, anorexic of thinking.
Theories of being an egoist calm my nerves,
But a breakdown is sure to occur.

I am the hero, i own my own brain.
You can jail me. You can stone me, but I'll always be free.

I am not guilty you fat lard ****.
cut off your man ****.
About cops and "On Civil Disobedience".

— The End —