The Girls

The girl who's been stabbed. She calls us over and chases us down every time we see her, wanting to share her story and experiences. The girl who looked so young, was barely dressed, freezing cold and scared out of her mind, standing next to a man who neither offered his hand nor his coat. The girl who gave advice on how to help other girls, but would not receive help for herself; who works two other jobs but is admittedly addicted to the money; who has two children and may be pregnant with another. I am still waiting and hoping she will call me. The girl who we see out frequently, who has shared details of her life and past, who has such a sweet personality you'd want to be her friend. The girl with the short skirt and baby face who said she was new and seemed like she was high. The girl who put on a show - blowing kisses and waving to every car that went by. The girl who was so touched when we offered her a gift and prayer, saying no one gives her gifts or prays for her anymore. The girl who stood alone on the corner, surrounded by men; I didn't want to leave; I wanted to protect her. The girl who seemed so normal and put together I had to remind myself the reason she was out. Excited to talk with us, pray with us, set a hangout time with us. She was so young, so beautiful, yet carried around so much pain from her past. The girl whose father just had surgery and she was getting high to forget. The girl with the tattoo that said "My Bitch." The girl who asked for a cigarette that made me wish I carried them just so I could have a few minutes to talk to her. The girl whose family wants her to come home.

The countless girls we don't get to talk to, but see from a distance. the girls who walk away from us, who cross the street just so they don't have to walk past us. 

The ones we see getting into a car before reaching them. I can't describe the feeling I get when that happens.  

The countless girls we don't see.

The countless men we see, searching for girls to buy. 

All of the ones that God sees.