It’s personal-A poem.

History of Sorts


They say I am their enemy but yet I don’t know them and have never seen them before.

Why are they taking my glasses and my shoes, they are not weapons.

Why are they making this so personal, what is it that I have done?

I really would like to know.


They say I no longer own my house and have to give my keys to them.

Even my wedding ring is no longer mine.

They already took my wife when we got off the train


They say I am not a human being, but yet I have the same flesh and blood as them

All that I own has been taken now


They say it’s not personal

But they took my wife, my children, my everything. How can it not be personal?

I see my wife and children one more time,

A guard tells me they are going to…

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