It seems so silly, my loving me.
Isn’t it understood, obviously?

Maybe I feel so uneasy, and it seems so odd,
Because I always looked outside to people or God.

To enjoy a quiet time with myself, alone,
Relaxing with a book and ignoring the phone.

Learning to find pleasure in my own company,
And from the ‘outer-search’ prison being set free.

To cherish the one I know the best,
And let go the judgment of the rest,

Is for me as unnatural as exciting,
But all discomfort aside, so inviting.

It seems such nonsense and so hard,
Like sending myself a Valentines card.

But maybe that’s just what I need to do,
To get used to telling myself, “I love you!”