You Are Not What Was Done To You

The water is hot, but it cannot reach the place where you feel stained. You are scrubbing the skin raw, trying to wash away a memory, a touch, a moment that feels like it has soaked into your bones.

But the dirt you feel is not on the surface. It is a lie the darkness tells you in the quiet hours.

There was a woman, caught in the act, dragged into the light to be judged by stones. The accusers left one by one until only she and the Light remained.

He did not tell her to wash. He did not tell her to scrub until she was clean enough to be loved.

He said, 'Neither do I condemn you.' The verdict of shame has been overturned. You are not what was done to you.

You are not what you did. You are the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.