Can’t we find love in our selves 

Without worrying what others 

Think about us? 

We are told that there 

Is always an enemy amongst us, 

But they never for once said it will be yourself. 

Hidden in capes like golden silks 

Wrapped from the sun’s beams, 

Those pretty words 

Turned our thoughts away. 

Petals wilting from a dying Rose, 

Whose thorns remain sharp 

For the upcoming winter. 

Funny how those words 

That seem to rip our fragile skins were 

The only  t r u t h  that purely existed.