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 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,
Dishevelling 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 contently 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 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 your baggage inside me, all your mistakes
all the gratuitous cruelty you hoisted on top of me, to make certain
I couldn’t ever pick myself up, all the things you never wanted responsibility for

Instead of help me climb out of his 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?


Audrey Hepburn was elegant

Matty B. Duran

Joined July 2009

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 12

Artist's Description

I wrote this one because I admire the survivors of the Holocaust for their strength and great courage. Especially the women, who were especially vulnerable, as mothers and as sexual objects to the enemy. I also know Audrey Hepburn was in the Belgian Resistance during the Second World War.

Women in the Holocaust

Artwork Comments

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