It’s Not A Choice

I know you don’t believe me,
But I promise,
It’s not a choice.
The heart knows what it wants,
Its loyal messenger; my voice.
I’ve told you more than one time,
And I don’t know why you still pretend,
When one throws a rock at a mountain
they will surely never make it bend.
I gift to you my truest form,
what you do is yours to say…
But how you take my gift
illuminates you in a way.
If it’s not taken with truth and care,
perhaps I shouldn’t have given it at all;
I stand in my truth like a statue,
No outside force can make me fall.
I have ears that hear so freely,
gathered – by choice – around me.
You claim to be my biggest fan,
Yet your reactions to the gift astound me.
In truth, at times I grow angry
When you claim some,
Yet you say you claim all;
Brick-by-brick you’re building
a very unfortunate wall.
I hope one day you’ll accept
the gift that I present…
Even if you don’t,
I don’t believe I will resent.
But if my gift is turned away
it’s you that I should pity,
There’s so much life inside my gift;
the sad, the ugly, the pretty.
But in my gift; the truth and me
will endlessly rejoice.
Because although you don’t believe me,
I truly promise,
It’s not a choice.

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