Self Love is a Choice

For years I'd written myself notes with names of some I can't remember. Those I've cheered; stood and applauded. Protagonists who played Romeo to my Juliet. Shakespeare would've lauded. Scribbles that should've been love letters that would've made me a better person. There were more than a few endearing roles, romantic ones, comedies and life's dramas. Names that have faded on the playbills. Sometimes I struggle to remember them all as I recall tears of both joy and sorrow. There were times when love was undeserved. Times when I swerved off the virtuous road, and followed the wrong path that led to heartache... Regretful am I for having played around and like a fool, I broke hearts, including my own. I realized that I had to love myself to be worthy of love from others. Not the kind that smothers, but the type that gives free rein to roam and return instead of burning bridges on paths I'd walked. Learning to love myself allowed me to see that there was no need to give up the stage and wage war in a rage at the time-stealing thief... the makeup artist who painted wrinkles on my face, and silver hair that causes a thespian grief. Age... that sordid bandit who addled my memory. No standing ovation for comedy that's not divine, nor for refusing to recite my farewell lines. My scribbled notes have become love letters that I should've boldly written to myself long ago. My emotions are still engaging, for I mourn the absence of loved ones who are gone but often appear in reveries and dreams. I walked in their footsteps but not the light that gleamed in their eyes on opening night. Stars still glimmer and shine in mine but I'm no longer star struck with delusion, for I stopped wearing the veil of illusion. It's not what I've done or the words I've said that I should love about myself. No... the One I thank and love the most is God above.