Unseen
My bullet holes cannot be seen
But I still bleed--full of holes,
And not whole.
You will not see my name in the news
No one weeps for me.
People spit at me, call me names,
Push me to the ground, rip my clothes.
I take the blame for terrible acts,
Over which I have no control.
I am only visible when I am hated.
I will not be remembered, honored or grieved.
I wrote this poem in response to the countless attacks carried out by Islamic extremists. While we may hold hatred for those who carry out these terrorist attacks, we must remember to separate peaceful people from violent people. Do not immediately judge those you do not know.
"Don't let the actions of a few determine the way you feel about an entire group." -Erin Gruwell