Whore.

No amount of hiding will keep her from
their twisted faces; so angry, so judging- its terrifying,
and no matter how hard she might try,
she just cant drown out the noise of their violent cries:

"Slut!
"Sinner!"
"Murderer!"

Miserably, she glues her eyes to the ground, walking on-
they have determined that she should ne'er raise her eyes
For she is a terrible person, committing the very worst kind of wrong.
Undeserving to look into the gentle eyes of a savior.

Carelessly, they all assume the worst of her,
callously they shout names that are already stuck on repeat
inside her mind, inside her own head- but they'll never know
that the decision originates from a place of great fear.

She bears her scars for everyone to see as she passes
and some of them have the nerve to say she deserves them
because she has made herself the lowest of the low
worth less than the dirt on the bottoms of their holier-than-thou shoes.

She's given in an cut herself again that day, because she thought
her values were steadfast- those that held all life sacred,
as valuable, as deserving of a chance to actually be
and now the name she hears rings with truth so biting: Hypocrite.

The absolute worst kind of person,
undeserving of love or understanding.
But I understand her now, because for the first time ever
I am unable to answer, with what was once unwavering certainty,

To kill it.
Or keep it.

Because now the light on her shines on me as well
and I step into her shoes- they fit perfectly.
She is not selfish, unstable, or uncaring...
Take a second and understand that she is overwhelmed by fear.

Fear of what is not known, the fear of rejection
by her family- those she thought would be the ones who'd stand
by her forever; relationships now tainted by her mistake
and a future that no longer looks quite so bright.

Its a fear of being in constant need, fear of ridicule
which I recognize now that it is not at all unfounded-
labeled a murderer at age 23...
She wanted to be a mom, but not now and not this way.

The fear of judgement is a heavy weight,
rivaled only by the fear of not having the support she's sure to need.
And now it is I who hear their shrieks and screams;
its me being shamed and broken by the waving of their violent picket signs.

I walked in her shoes as the cried sinner and threw
their righteous rocks, screaming with throats of burning fire
that she'd spend eternity burning in hell
but they don't see the scared little girl who's been taught all too well:

Sex outside of marriage is the worst kind of sin,
even worse is the blessing turned curse of a baby that may or may not result
and she's been beaten by shame and guilt because an unwanted pregnancy labels
her a failure, a sinner- who's forever unworthy of looking upon her Savior.