My thanks to the man who lied to my face. His sniggering tone and that smirk he showed me made me feel deep inside those recesses of my intuition the falseness of his words. He could not fool me–but I would not be fooled into false understanding. I sought out sources stronger than his sordid sounds and confirmed my suspicions: That to my face he had spoken with such falseness not even the devil himself would have found it fit to speak.
My thanks to the man who lied to my face. He steeled my reserve and made me know that in this innocent world where great things happen to good people, and the punishable meet their fate in solitude, I know now that I have all I will ever need housed inside me. I need not his hand in mine. I need not his support to back me. I need not his rancid followers or his spoiled sisters and broken brothers. I need not his help to achieve my ends.
My thanks to the man who lied to my face. Nothing more of late has compelled me to act as has this righteous indignation I felt in his presence. This anger I harbor toward him shall soon pass–shall be released of my own accord for I shall not give unto him power over me. But I shall harness this indignation, this urgency and intensity. I shall harness it for all that is good and just in this world and I shall fight against his kind and those like him with more fervor than I have ever have before.
In trying to pull me down, you have only lifted me up.