Ego eliminator,because Psychic

Was it to me, this opinion?
Awhisper carried on the wind,
or a shouted decree from a high tower.
This thought, polished like a worry stone,
worn smooth by constant turning.

This self-centered ego,
a shadow I don't always see,
but feels like a cloak,
heavy, sometimes warm,
sometimes suffocating.

It's this hyper-focus,
not a sharp beam,
but a hazy glow,
illuminating only my own landscape.
My thoughts, a buzzing hive,
my feelings, the only weather report that matters.

My experiences, the grand tapestry,
where every thread is mine,
woven with such intricate care,
Iforget the loom is shared,
the pattern vast beyond my seeing.

Empathy, a distant country,
its borders unclear, its language strange.
The perspectives of others,
like flickering candles across a dark plain,
too faint to truly grasp,
too easily dismissed.

Self-awareness, a natural breath,
a check-in with the inner self.
But this is different.
This is a staring contest with my own reflection,
a locked gaze that never wavers.

It’s inflexible, this stance.
Arooted tree, unwilling to bend,
even when the winds of difference blow.
It’s sustained, this inward turn,
day after day, year after year,
a river flowing only to its own delta.

Sometimes, it whispers of grandeur,
a subtle echo of narcissism,
the belief that my star shines brightest.
Other times, it’s a frantic scramble,
a desperate need to prove worth,
driven by a deep, quiet insecurity,
a fear of being overlooked,
or worse, being found wanting.

So, I ask again,
this pointed observation,
this unveiled truth,
was it directly to me,
this unfolding mapof a self that’s too much mine,
and not enough the world’s?
Aquestion hanging in the air,
waiting for an echo,
or a silence.

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