[it's supposed to be read in more of a beat-nick, coffee-shop poetry reading style]
Beaten and bruised.
Mistreated. Misused.
Do you see them on the outskirts,
Hiding in back row pews?
The stories of the broken.
The masked fear of the outspoken.
Shattered pieces,
The church just teases
Promising perfection
Instead of Spiritual reflection,
Salvation.
They don’t need your advice
Or theology reasons.
They just need Jesus.
Who are we to rob them of their eternity?
