When does self-love become selfishness?

Sometimes
I don’t understand what love is
It’s tired and overused
It’s an excuse for
fucking
and fucking up
and forgiving

Sometimes I do understand
when I sit next to
my sister
and she hates how I chew
and I hate how stubborn she is
But here we are
We know that we don’t need to talk
I know how she feels before she feels it
She knows I’ll ask for peanut butter on toast
and that a pot of coffee will get me to come over
and share her couch.

I have a hard time reconciling love
and the prickly way I act
The way I blame them
when the phone is choppy
as if a signal travelling hundreds of miles
to a tower
reflected back through air
to me
is something they can control.

I get angry when it isn’t easy
I get bored when it’s not hard enough
I’m impatient to understand
what it is I’m missing
I think
what I really want
is me
and that’s why I’ll never see anyone else.

My self-love is selfish love.