The speaker starts by repeating a piece of advice most of us have heard: you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. It sounds sensible, even kind. Then the poem turns on one word, "But." The speaker admits that they haven't managed the first step, and yet they are loving someone anyway.
That admission is the heart of the poem. The speaker doesn't sound proud of breaking the rule, and they don't sound sorry either. "Here I am" is plain and a little helpless, as if the feeling simply arrived without waiting for permission. We can reasonably guess, from the way the advice is set up, that the speaker doesn't love themselves much, though the poem never says so outright.
The mood is quiet, tender and slightly rueful. With so few lines, the poem leaves a lot unsaid, and that gap lets the love feel both real and a bit uncertain. The title, "escape_artist," hints that loving someone else may be a way of slipping out of the self.