Mom didn’t want no kids either just the damn food stamps. God don’t love us either. God’s dead, too. We’re little whores at birth. We don’t want stabbed to death on the kitchen floor by a daddy who is a doctor, or a lawyer, or a DHS caseworker, or a cop, or a firefighter, or a military officer, or a dope dealer. Or their nasty friends either too.
We’re sick of hearing mommy say she can’t do nuthin’ cause the bastard is abusing her, too, so she is us and she’s really really sorry and then she tucks us in at night and kisses us and tells us it’ll all stop soon and she loves us and we’re special and God loves us and tomorrow will be better and next week is our birthday and they have sumpthin’ really special planned —
if we’re really really good and don’t do no more stupid stuff and just listen for a change and just shut the f— up for a change and just do what we’re told for a change and just obey for a change and just learn how to pee in the toilet at 9 months and stop pooping our pants at two and stop screaming every time we get smacked or our arms get broke or are hands get broke cause we keep stealing stuff and stop stealing food out of the fridge cause we’re hungry and we already knew that would happen if we ate even a tiny bite of the hamburgers mom fixed for dad when he came home from work from a job he ain’t got ‘cept for dealing crack and then
we might even get a birthday cake
what kind would we like?
If we’re good anyhow. If we ain’t bad no more and all these demons finally get beat outta us.
If we get to live that is
Maybe. Maybe we’ll even get a present this year. A real present that is and not beat again.
Or maybe we’ll just get rolled up in small dead wads
like dirty clothes on the bedroom floor we have to keep wearing even if the dog did crap on them before he died two months ago, or crammed into an old suitcase and the bag of cement in the hall closet’ll finally get used and then they will move far far away and nobody will care again or even miss us until the landlord cleans up the dump and can’t lift the stupid suitcase and has to take a knife to it then he’ll find the body and then the police will come and then somebody will care. Maybe.
We can’t be bad no more then. That’s what Dad said.
Dead kids can’t be bad no more
But then the pain will stop Just like Momma said.
We didn’t ask to be born and we didn’t ask to be born TO YOU!!!
As you read the following pages and view the faces of the victims as they once were please do not forget the stories of the Children of the Shoah.
I am one of those children. The difference is I live
I am A Jewess and a granddaughter and great-niece of the Nazi Holocaust. Niece and granddaughter and great-granddaughter to honorable US military, some of whom helped “liberate” the Nazi Death Camps or were POW’s in the death camps. Who returned home to be victimized again, on home soil, by the very political monsters they fought, some died at the hands of, and all of whom gave all to rid the world of only to have them welcomed with open arms into the American lives, homes and businesses of the surviving family members of those found dead in pits, piled up in bone yards, piled up in mountains of shoes, in mountains of fine ash from the burning ovens.
Land of the Freed. Home of the brave – – – –
For however long we may live.
I am Another Oklahoma Rose a Daughter of Rachel
During the 2000 dedication of the Ravensbruck Memorial, the red rose was declared the international symbol for murdered women and children
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