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The Day that Death Died By Michaela W. By one of His own, He was betrayed, One who, by silver’s ring, was swayed, He was led away, His hands bound and tied, On the day that death died. Spit upon and falsely accused, He was whipped, beaten – horribly abused, Before Pilate of Rome, He was questioned and tried, On the day that death died. Led through the streets full of mocking and scorn, A burden on His back, on more »

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I’m ashamed. Afraid. Worried about what other people might think of me. The opinions of people I barely know matter to me. I want people I just met to like me, before I even know if I like them. If their opinion should matter. When I walk to class, I tend to avoid eye contact with people, just like everyone else does. Eyes straight ahead. Or down at a phone. But that’s not what I want. I want to be unashamed.  Like Rachel more »