Walking along, he lives his life trying his hardest.
His hardest to please everyone.
He just wants to see everyone else happy.
Personal happiness doesn’t matter.
Words sting. Growing up.
Your athletic abilities aren’t what we want.
You can do better.
You are ugly. Lose some weight. No, gain some weight.
You will never be loved looking like that.
Acting like that.
With every crushing blow of the words
It gets harder to keep his head up.
It’s harder to constrain the tears.
The anger.
But there must be something wrong, with me.
This must some how be my fault.
I am not normal
Therefore I deserve this.
You’re not what we’re looking for in a friend.
In a son.
In a brother.
In a student.
Still, he does what he can to please everyone else.
Each word stings more than the last.
His head begins to droop.
He covers himself in his shame.
It blankets the pain.
He moves on, thinking,
“This must be what life is like”
The words keep coming.
The pressure keeps building.
BAM!
He’s down! He’s fallen! He’s not getting up!
Has he given up?
He lays there, helpless, hopeless, unsure of what to do.
He can do no right.
The world still, sees him down, and brings on their words.
Each word kicks him and adds a new bruise.
Each word opens up a wound.
Some words open wounds that were healed.
He’s not taking it very well. He’s still not getting up.
His tears form a pool around him
He is drenched in sorrow.
Why are you persecuting me?
Why are you persecuting me?
Why are you persecuting me?
The only words this servant can mutter.
It’s his only way of fighting back.
Still, he lays there, bruised, wounded, drenched, barely breathing.
And the world offers up another kick.
He is sure that kick will be the last.
One can only take so much before he stops breathing.
He’s a fighter though, this guy.
He’s not giving up. He’s holding strong.
His scarred face, soaked in tears.
Drenched with the sweat of anxiety.
Marked up, bruised, purple, badly beaten.
He sure is ugly.
Who could ever love him?
Why are you persecuting me?
Still, the words of the world offer another blow.
Each breath may be His last.
Wait… Who is this? Someone has come to pick him up.
Someone is brushing him off.
Someone has wrapped him in His arms.
Someone is wiping away his tears.
God Himself has come to the rescue.
I love you. And that’s all that matters.
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