*Let me preface this with the fact that I know the Holocaust happened. . .my mother was nine and in Berlin. . .my whole family in Berlin was there. . .knows. . .but I'm really very tired of being marked. . .and now I'm angry that my children, both of them, have been tagged. . .being German does not equate one with Naziism. . .and don't be naive. . .the hate mongers hate everyone. . .me and my nationality included. . .beyond that it's not really a good day for me. . .so forgive me as I'll be laying very, very low. . .* For years I struggled with being marked by 6,000,000 graves, carried with me a sin no 9 year-old should wrap around her psychic frame, turned my back to escape sniper fire that ricocheted from behind school desks, and snow piles, from whispers of grief locked within mountain wounds, turned my back on shouting love for a river that was home to my fin, and today I listened to my son laud the Hispanic pool of his genes, descrying Rhineland lakes, Bavarian flowers, and 44a Hochfeilerweg, Mariendorf, Berlin, 1000 because his school friends, too, have tagged him as Nazi, and the cycle can only end with knowledge on the psychology of fear in the somnambulant abused. Only then will any of us spirit the words never again with unified conviction. ~Rene~ Schwiesow
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