When the storm has swept by, the wicked are gone, but the righteous stand firm forever.
I am tasting the bitter bile of disappointment far too often lately. Gathering in my stomach, rising through my throat that does not catch me from stifling my words. Those spew with venom, malice and a language foreign to my ears. I don’t know who I am when my mouth goes off.
And when the pang of pride pricks acutely in the weak point of my heart, I immediately pull in any offering of myself I dared to show to others. Immediately brick up my walls, ice over the blood bleeding from my hurt. All too familiar, a fortress forms, latching its base into the earth of my being.
I let people get too close, they let me down, I fall into the deep recesses of my soul where no light prevails. I nestle in the crevices, bleak barrenness calling out my name.
I let my pride fester, mingle with anger, frustration, stubbornness. I hold myself under the surface and do not want to come up for air. I long to make myself inaccessible again, as I was before You broke me clean open.
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