Bitter bottle

He picks up the bottle, pours out of it a stream of bitter and slanderous lies. I stand for truth: I am bombarded, yet I stand, embattled, battle-hardened. The tirade of abuse hits like a hurricane, but my limbs are seasoned timber: I have weathered many storms.

Where there is hatred, let me bring love…

It’s a hard one to remember, in the midst of a storm, but remember it I must. If not, toxicity takes over, and my resolve crumbles into dust.

Bless those that curse you, bless, and curse not…

I turn the other cheek, but there’s a carving knife gripped tightly in my hand…

I didn’t say that I was going to use it.

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