My worst enemy has the same name as me. He likes to be mentioned and recognized. I despise it. Every time some well intentioned friend sings his praises a proverbial axe chops away at the many months progress that had been made.
Pride is my worst enemy, I hate him. He makes my life a living hell. If I stay off of his shoulders and quit punching him in the face it’s only a matter of days before he shows up in a three piece suit to try and sing his gospel.
As of late I’ve recognized that one of the fruits of his labor is comparison to others. This my friends is the poisoned dart in the neck that slurs the speech and  stutters the step. That’s where his presence really hurts because it’s the culmination of occurrences that leads to an overarching weak me.
So I fight, I cuss, I run from any hint of pride. I hear my name pronounced in praise and he gets all puffed up, I on the other hand can’t wait to throw a crow-hopping haymaker to his chin. What a strange battle I have… not with the demonic or with the devil. Just with me. Within me.
What was that you were saying? I don’t know how to take a compliment? Oh, I know how to take it. Take it out to the woodshed.
Rant Ends Here. Thanks for listening.
Collision of Kingdoms 