Not my game to win

I can hear the questions buzzing inside their heads. What does she think she's doing? Posting a picture with her midriff and cleavage on full display? It's like she's advertising herself. . . that's why she was raped. She must've been doing the same thing.

I can hear the thoughts as a few brave souls hit the like button on Facebook. As the few brave souls venture that maybe, just maybe, the raped girl has feelings. Maybe the raped girl enjoyed taking a selfie after two years of grueling workouts to transform herself from the girl that man once knew into the woman she finds crying back at her in the mirror today.

Little miss raped girl is all too public about her experience. Rumor has it she even liked it. Went to the cops? She's out of her mind. I heard she got pregnant. An abortion? Yeah, heard that too. Someone said she was a virgin. . .finding it hard to believe with that picture. 

. . . .Their thoughts never leave me. Their voices never hide.

It's so damn frustrating living behind this curtain of uncertainty. I'm just too damn tired of feeling like I just can't catch a break. Don't show enough skin and I'm intimidating--I'm the religious fanatic. Show too much skin and suddenly I'm a whore.

I can't win.