When all else failed,

She finally allowed herself

To enter the store front of the church,

The fictitious coffee shop

With the cutesy name,

"Holy Grounds."

But after the preliminary acceptance was consumed,

They turned their backs and left her alone.

They could only assure her 

She was going to hell,

Because she would not honor her father and mother.

So she finished the stale, low-fat cookie,

And swallowed the rest of the bitter, cheap coffee

They had given her,

And walked back out, and down the street.

Her memories of being prostituted

By her parents when she was five,

So that they could have drug and booze money,

Was as fresh in her memory, and as painful,

As the very first day it had happened.

-jenn