Love is a choice.
My first one was made poorly. 
How foolish was I
To think you could adore me. 

The things that I did,
The things I ignored
To think you were mine,
To think I was adored. 
The self-love I lost,
The self-hate I gained.
The selfish reality: 
You stayed the same. 

Your smile was wicked.
Your behavior was cruel.
Your actions were sickening.
And I was a fool. 

I did not think
I'd be only a prize,
Yet you loved me less
Than I ever realized. 

I did not want
To give you control,
But you said submission
Would make me feel whole. 

I did not deserve
To lose what you took;
You said my "mistake"
Was how pretty I looked. 

I won't change my mind. 
I won't disappear, 
So you can avoid
What you don't want to hear: 

No. 

Did you expect
That I'd just give up
On my chosen life?
On my dearest Love?
For the off chance
That you love me, too?

As if I would ever
Want or need love from you. 

I respect your feelings.
Now please respect mine. 
I chose my commitments; 
Do not cross that line.
And do not assume
You could lure me away
From the love of my life
To be yours for a day. 

I'm not sure where it started,
But I know where it ends; 
You and I will never be
Anything more than friends. 
I want you to be happy
With someone, but not me. 
For I am already beyond well-loved
And adored terribly. 

I want to show the kind of Love
That turns the world on its head,
That distracts from all the judgemental fakes,
And points to Jesus instead. 

I lost my religion;
I found my Faith.
I lost my standards;
I found my identity. 
I lost my pride; 
I found my Lord. 

I woke up
When I realized
The Truth
Was never about
Rules; 
I grew up
When I realized
The Truth
Has always been about
Love. 

I almost turned away from Truth,
Discouraged by His children. 
I recoiled from their meeting place,
Their rituals, their religion.
Yet I saw the Truth again, 
In the tiniest glimmer.
It grew stronger as I examined
The sincerity of a sinner. 

And yet,
Those who've never met Him
Seem to know Him best
When those who claim to love Him
Carry judgement in their chest. 

The afternoon slump
That stirs the pot
And condemns
The dreams unsought. 

You do not need
A fancy desk,
A private office,
A prestigious title;
You are your own
Judgemental peer,
Cutthroat critic, 
And bitter rival. 

"It isn't real,"
I tell myself
While filing endless
Pages.
You print, you stamp,
You answer the phone.
Each job has weary
Stages. 

Every role
Has valleys
And hills.
Every new day
Has trials
And thrills. 

The friendship I lost,
The solitude I gained
When the illusion eroded
And we both remained.