she feared all hate.
she flinched and she winced
at all disapproval thrown at her.
Whatever good intentions meant
by her judgmental tormentors
all she understood
by their heathen efforts spent
was the existence
of her gruesome unforgivable sin;
though child-like errors they were.

She walks tall
her head held high above all
for the world to see and marvel
and for each to speak to the other
spreading word of her radiance.

But underneath that sheath
she resides
in utter desolation.
she swims in pools
of her blood-spiked tears
for her soul has long been ripped
mauled and stripped of redemption
by her heathen tormentors;
their faces etched
in one mutilated heart
shared by she and She
forever reminding Her
of her gruesome, unforgivable sin.

– Maretsuki Marx