Woman at the Well

I am a woman of no distinction. Of little importance.
I am a woman with no reputation, save that which is bad.
You whisper as I pass by and cast judgmental glances though you don’t really take the chance to look at me,
Or even get to know me.
For to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.
And otherwise what’s the point in doing either one of them in the first place.


I want to be known. I want someone to look at my face and not just see 2 eyes, a nose, a mouth and 2 ears.
But to see all that I am and could be. All my hopes, loves and fears.
But that’s too much to ask for. To wish for. To pray for.
So I don’t, not anymore...
Now I keep to myself and by that I mean the pain. The pain that keeps me in my own private jail. 
The pain that’s brought me hear at midday to this well to ask for a drink is no big request.
But to ask it of me, a woman unclean. Ashamed. Used and abused. An outcast. A failure. 
A disappointment. A sinner.
No drinks passing from these hands to your lips can ever be refreshing, only condemning.
As I’m sure you condemn me now, but you don’t. 


You’re a man of no distinction though of the utmost importance
A man with little reputation at least so far.
You whisper and tell me to my face what all those glances have been about.
And you take the time to really look at me but don’t need to get to know me.
For to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.
And you know me, you actually know me. All of me and everything about me.
Every thought inside and hair on top of my head. Every hurt stored up, every hope, every dread.
My past and my future. All I am and ever could be.
You tell me everything and you tell me about me. 


And that which is spoken by another would bring hate and condemnation.
Coming from you brings love, grace, mercy, hope, and salvation.
I’ve heard of one to come and save a retch like me and hear in my presence you say, 
"I am he".
To be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.
And I just met you but I love you. I don’t know you but I want to get to.

Let me run back to town. This is way too much for just me.
There are others, brothers, sisters, lovers, haters.
The good and the bad. Sinners and saints.
Who should hear what you’ve told me. Who should see what you’ve shown me.
Who should taste what you gave me. Who should feel how you forgave me.
For to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.
And they all need this too and we all do need it for our own.