Sincerely Genocide

Dear, Perpetrator, 

It’s hard,

Being forced to live your past as if it is the present.

For the satisfaction of others somehow learning from experience,

A mentally, physically, and emotionally draining experience

that people acknowledge but never remember.

To say that my birthday isn’t as important as the others.

That it’s just another Holocaust waiting to be recognized,

Never truly defined, but I’m the one that has to remind

Others that this birthday is a tragedy.

Happy birthday to me,

A word, a concept

Never to go down in history books because why?

The perpetrators of my existence don’t want to take

Responsibility for the very thing that they’ve caused.

When all my life was considered a tragic death period

Of no one trying to stop the reality of genocide.

I wanted to be free

Free from abuse, free from suffering, free from the denial that I’ll never be important enough to be talked about in my child’s education.

“My family’s legacy is destroyed.”

Because of stereotypes.

Because of fear.

Because of ignorance.

Because authority made sure that none of us survived,

But as a survivor, why do I have to be the one.

The one to exist every day, yet be ignored.

“And I don’t understand”

I’m too young to understand?

Why do people think I’m too young?

I Understand.

Fully.

I understand that being an Armenian

Being female,

Being a child,

Being human,

In a world where people are so selfish of their own desires,

Is wrong.

“My Pain”

My suffering,

My family,

My life doesn’t really matter at all,

But this is supposed to be the place I call home

And have a great

Happy

Birthday.

Sincerely,

Genocide

P.S. It’s hard to say Happy Birthday to me when all my life was considered a tragic death period. My family’s legacy is destroyed and I don’t understand my pain.