The Judge In My Chest

 The Judge in My Chest

I put on a robe like I’m holy and wise,

But the judge in my chest sees straight through the disguise.

I rule in my favor, I bend every law,

Then gasp in pure shock at the faults that I saw.

I pound on the table, “I’m righteous! I’m right!”

While feeding my ego all day and all night.

I sentence the world for the things that they do,

Then quietly pardon the same things in me too.

I call it “bestowal,” I call it “the climb,”

But most of the time I’m just serving my slime.

I polish my halo, adjust it just so,

While hiding the horns that continue to grow.

The truth is a mirror I try to avoid,

It shows me how much of my love is employed

To serve only self with a sweet holy grin,

While whispering prayers through a mouth full of sin.

I judge all the friends like I’m seated above,

Yet starve them inside of the smallest of love.

Then cry to the heavens, “Why don’t I feel light?”

While blocking the door with my own inner fight.

But the Judge never shouts, never strikes, never shames,

He just holds up the truth and calls me by name.

“Look close, stubborn heart, this ruling is true—

The one you must sentence is always just you.”

And covered in laughter, in mercy, in grace,

Love stands there smiling me straight in the face.

No gavel of anger, no cold iron rod,

Just truth wrapped in warmth from the hands of my God.