A Girl Without Her Diary

• Olivia Konstanty, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2018

I no longer have my diary
all I'm left with are these thoughts
But these thoughts become more feeble
Just like my body, my soul, I'm caught

Through the days, we are all the same
A prisoner, a number, a minority, a Jew
Slowly withering, growing dimmer
Our days are numbered, they are fading, there are few

Do we even look human?
My strength is all gone
Bare bones, cuts and sores
Is this why I was born?

As mother gives us the last of her bread,
My soul and body feel with dread
She won't survive, neither will we
We will never get the chance to be free