Morning Love

I love who I am most in the early morning time, 
just before the sun is rising 
I pick myself up with a clear head and a clear heart 
I listen only to the music of my mind and the rustling of bare winter branches 
I soak my tea bag and watch as the world goes from still water to wildly rippled by whatever stirs it 
I love myself most before I speak to anyone 
before there are people to perceive me as strange or as this or as that 
I love myself most when I am walking between the lines of whatever literature I’m reading 
I love myself here as I pant from a dance break to spill on this page
I’ll love myself enough now to last until dusk when I can not say whether or not I’ll love her then