I Used to do Nothing

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Their gift to me is bitter eyes, snickering lips, and upright lies.
They load their words in catapults and try to penetrate my mind.
Their false rumors of me shock, astonish, and appease the crowds.
Yet, I do nothing.

Their sticky fingers go through my bags, folders, and belongings.
Their cold, ruthless hands possess everything that I once owned.
Every day I see my stuff, shoved into their packs of robbery.
Yet, I do nothing.

My purple, painful bruises are their constant result,
And remembrance that I had no hope or even the slightest chance to win.
My daily toss, rumble, and fight had become apart of my weekly plans.
Yet, I do nothing.

Finally I fell sick to tears of their miserable rumbles.
No longer would I become a player in their games.
No longer would I stand and watch effortlessly as they tore my life to shreds.
So, I prayed.

After my prayer, my life took a turn, and altered my day in a positive way.
I found them failing to pick my lock, and failing to find me to stain me with bruises.
My life was prosperous and not the slightest bit excruciating.
So, I prayed again.





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