In the waning heat of summer,

I’d made a gutsy, brave, courageous

choice to fight for someone.

This someone was careful,

compassionate, ruthlessly thoughtful…

Someone worth facing the uncertainty of rejection for.

The person,

and the choice,

slipped through my fingers,

trickling down my palms in

rivulets of temporary friendship,

even though my grip had been

tighter on him than it ever

had been on anyone before.

With eyes un-dewed

and brain chemicals reduced,

I recognized later that his possible payoff

couldn’t be nearly as fanciful as my

pink-and-lavender hopes painted them.

In the golden crispness of autumn,

I made the quavering choice to

fight for someone else.

This someone was sweet,

open, and thought-provoking…

Someone who promised a weighty potential.

With a strong-willed mind

and a steely gaze,

I realized that her future deserved

more than a mediocre monochrome film reel

that spans 10 minutes of a half-fulfilled life.

That first choice

(dealing with a boy)

became inconsequential

over the passing

of many seasons,

aside from spurring me on to

make that second heart-stuttering choice.

That second choice has created

a colossal ripple of change.

Victories were won in battles

against mind-demons attacking

with rusty daggers and poison-tipped spears—

I fought with the weapon of

unapologetic, self-embracing love.

I seized the spoils of life-giving freedom,

of sinewy strength, of determined passion,

of flaming confidence, and of a beating-steady peace.

I chose to fight for myself.

In the cold-snap of winter,

I conquered.