My name is Unbroken.
Not faltered by this yellow star that I am forced to wear.
My name is Terrified.
Thought to be a monster,
blamed for the problems of a nation,
hated for the fact that I don’t pray the way that they do.
My name is Broken.
Like the windows in my father’s shop,
like the stained glass in my temple.
My name is Ripped.
Like the curtains in my bedroom where they found me,
like the way my belongings,
and my name,
were ripped away from me
My name is Forgotten.
Lost in the shadows of war,
drowned in the tears of pain and loss.
Simply left behind
when the ink stained my skin.
My name is six million.
Posted on Sunday, 24 June
Tagged as: six million holocaust ripped poetry lit words my name is