She searches and searches for truth in this world,
and they are happy to hand it out in pamphlets,
in bite-size sermonettes,
so they can count her soul in the tally roll of newcomers to the kingdom.
But, when she doesn't translate well into what they want her to be,
she dies a little more inside,
and she knows she never really could make it work,
and they know, too
(knew it from the start).
But, it made them feel good to try to fix her up
(like a prized pig),
and even better to cast her aside.
They've got it more together than she does
and, now there's proof.
They're closer to that one-way train ticket than she is.
This they know for sure,
and they won't spend too much time
holding on to what was really right
because hey, there's cake to bake,
and stories to spread,
and surely there's someone out there needing to be told they have it all wrong today.
But she . . .
she sits on the side of the road,
and she already knows she's not enough,
knows that a god who couldn't love her wouldn't be big enough anyway.
She knows she's not an outlander to God.
He calls her beautiful.
Even though his people have already marked her forehead and called it a day.
*Linking up with the lovely Emily today at Imperfect Prose today...