Audrey Hepburn was Elegant

Audrey Hepburn was elegant

discovering herself beyond her

occupation years,

But the memory of the SS never left her

She remained an emaciated woman

with haunted eyes until the very end.

She had Anne Frank's eyes terribly

prophetic

Do you see those women

cohabitating with the SS to save their

skins,

and breastfeeding their children?

Vichy France would have shunned them

and segregated them,

and labeled them dangerous women

Women skeletons have made themselves my

heroes,

naked and charred skins,

piled one over the other,

all were noble,

having the task of living and dying inside

each other

it was a sacred grave despite its volume,

despite the indignity that was meant

tangled and severed breasts never again

fed their children,

and never again gave birth

with wombs that were humiliated,

and those faces hidden behind the razor

fence of Auschwitz

never menstruated again

There was beauty,

even with hell for baggage around their

eyes,

and heads completely shaved with blood

bruises for hair,

there was strength in bones pressed

through skin like knives,

and humility in the obscenity they

were fed,

instead of food, and they choked on the

years, refusing to swallow death

I wanted to find my voice inside these

women,

and I wanted to stop believing that I

could have changed

the men that sat over me and excreted

I wanted to find my shelter in those

carved out pelvis',

that once were filled with purpose

I wanted to find my identity with those

women dressed in bones and rags, despite

the SS piss that poured over them

And piss can be related

I used to sliver my wrists to murder the

Holocaust inside,

those emaciated places without purpose

the places eaten by starvation and

strangulation of a love never fed

When will I find liberation from your type

of love

when will I look up and not have you

treat me as a stranger?

The gas chambers and the crematoriums

and the smoke black as a cancerous lung,

Disheveling the order of the civilized

world

we don't want to hear the unpleasantness

Still hide the survivors

and the way they hid to survive then,

hide them now

You don't fit in anymore, once you've

suffered

No one wants scarred wrists at the dinner

table

No one wants to see a charred face on the

bus

It hurts, it hurts to look at it

To look at you with eyes that don't

remember me

And eyes that don't admit their guilt

It shocks me that you don't remember the

Holocaust in our lives

That you battered mom, and blamed her

for the black eyes

That you go on with another woman and

never bother to hit her

but continually go home to her

When you used to stay out all night, and

made hell our residence

You don't remember the gas chambers

but I do

You don't remember the black smoke that

choked us, and mutilated us

Rising out of windows into the world

One by one we escaped,

but I never quite got out of the barbed

wire

It kinda clung to me, and decorates my

body now,

and I got used to it

To being surrounded by its porcupine

edges,

the metal that sticks deep into me

And still tears me up when somebody

says the word "deliverance"

and when somebody says the word "love"

it pokes into me hard like a penis about to

rape,

when you still mistreat us with your

denial

I can't tear off the wires that have become

my crutches, and my wheelchair, and my

braces, and my oxygen mask and my

glasses, and my hearing aids, and my

contraption and my vices and my eyes

and my senses and my feelings and my

thoughts

Stripping off the wires would be asking

too much,

I barely escaped

Without going insane, and taking wires in

the back

and having them puncture holes in my

legs

was nothing to get away from the

Holocaust inside my head

that repeatedly tormented and starved

me and beat me

having my face all scratched up was

nothing if I could leave with my life

Don't look at me and say you don't

remember

I remember even if you don't

The mere fact that I have wires sticking

out of me

proves something, it proves there was a

Holocaust

Even if I don't remember how I got the

numbers on my arms

Proves that I was there

Whether you say so or not

Even though you've gone on with what

you've done

The crimes you committed against us

are the bags I carry beneath the two

punctures that are my eyes

Instead of get lighter, the baggage gets

heavier

You hitched all of your baggage inside me,

all your mistakes

all the gratuitous cruelty you hoisted on

top of me, to make certain

I wouldn't ever pick myself up, all the

things you never wanted responsibility

for

Instead, of help me climb out of this hole,

you made certain it was a grave

Don't ever ask me to forgive you

I don't know if I can

I leave it to God, to His Son on the Cross

"Forgive them, for I cannot."

Audrey Hepburn was elegant discovering

herself

Beyond her occupation years in Belgium

Will I ever be as elegant as to discover

myself

Beyond my occupation years?

(Taken from The Girl and Other Poems by Matty B. Duran on sale on Amazon.com)