Shoulder

You cannot sweep hate under the rug; it bubbles up.

Like a noxious fume from beneath the crust of ignorance.

You cannot politically correct or constitutionally protect hate; it unravels.

In time, like a house of cards ignited by tiki torches from the garden store.

But you can turn it to stone with habits and conditions that freeze its bone.

And the poison produced within.

 

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