I hate these clothes.
They are not mine.
They mark me out as something other than human.
They itch at my skin as though my whole being is allergic to them.
Rejecting them as they reject me.
I want my old clothes back.
The ones that welcome me with the touch of softness against my skin.
The ones that smell like my mum and the sun.
I will not be who they are making me be.
And now we are being shoved on trains in the dark.
Packed in like animals and carted away.
The man next to me has soiled himself.
There is no toilet.
Not even space enough to turn around.
We are so tightly wedged, against each other.
Forced to breathe in each others skins.
The smell is vile and it grows more vile every hour.
Fear and perspiration.
Dread and defecation.
I can no longer stand the odors of my own life.
Nor the constant touch of others.
It has become an abrasion on my soul.
Like sandpaper eating its way into the core of me.
I cannot imagine ever wanting to be touched again.
By anyone. Anywhere.
For any reason.
The train has stopped.
My dad tells me not to look anyone here in the eyes as we are herded out.
He says to do so would bring bad luck to all of us.
No one can be trusted.
Or what little we have left of it.
He told my little brother the same thing.
Today a man spoke back to the guard.
He looked him in the eyes and called him a pig.
The guard shot him where he stood.
His head exploded.
There are bits of teeth and blood in my hair, on my arms, in my soul.
I cannot wash him off me.
They say there is a room of showers here but I am not permitted to go.
They say “one day little one” with a sneer, but not today.
Today it is the women’s day.
All I can do is stare and pick at the leftovers of an unknown man who now remain stuck, too strongly to me.
One thing is for certain.
I will never look anyone in the eye again.
Not even my father.
No one is to be trusted.
No one is safe.
There is a new smell today.
At first it is moderately sweet, like the smell of release.
Then it stirs into the smell of decay.
Word passes that a child has died in the night and the sounds of wailing begin.
Wave upon wave of sorrows paint my skin with every scream.
They fills my ears, my eyes, my nose and my mouth.
I cannot breathe.
I do not want to be here in this living death.
Please….. Please…… Please…….
Make it stop…..