A Poem About Ego, Time, and What We Leave Behind

“We don’t always mean to drift—

Substantive, my ego stands—

Elevated, orbiting self-concern.

Loyal, not to you, but to my own reflection,

Fueling a thirst for personal fulfillment.

Centered at the core of my cravings,

Expressing wants as if they were royal decrees.

Nobility—imagined, but fiercely held—

Time, hoarded, not shared.

Esteem that blooms only in my mirror,

Reckoning comes quietly,

Draped in the despair

of time I never gave to you.

but sometimes we wake up too far from the ones we love.”

This poem was born from an uncomfortable truth: sometimes we mistake our own self-preservation for strength, our detachment for independence. But what happens when we realize—too late—that the very people we ignored were the ones we were meant to love best?

What are the small moments you’re choosing not to share? Where does self-care cross the line into self-centeredness? Have you ever felt the quiet ache of time lost?