true love

honey, drips slower
how it differs from blood
that's swelling, the pain
we take in when we see ourselves
in that burn, the hurt that was
caused by the moment this is
all that's explained is this
nothing else curls in on itself
but the death of flowers
the anthology of life that was
placed on the shelf,
where dust is collecting
til I come clean myself
and recover the knowledge of love
this is my self, the truth of it is
nothing you bring will ever quite sting
spares the brunt of it all
when you walk out the door
look in the mirror to discover
oneself is unclear to define
to anyone else I'm acute, I am kind
and she is loving and, has pride
her spirit deserves only love in return
and I am finding myself
while he showers her presence grows with wealth
we buy everything, now
assuming self worth is privy and prime, real
estate of the life only I get to choose
first, comes loving myself.