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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #2265501
A short poem that encompasses a life that has been forcibly changed, but will not.
From now on you do not have a name.
Your number is 1117.
Do not forget your number.

My life is over.
A new life has been forcibly installed.
What can I do? What can we do?

I am surrounded by utter despair.
Around me is only fear.
Aimlessly, downcast multitudes slog by me.

What do I do? I do what they say or the ultimate end.
1117 must do what they say.
1117 must do what it hears.

But, 1117 still has its dignity.
But, 1117 still has its honor.
But, 1117 will still help those in need.

1117, I, will not bow to the force above me.
1117, I, will sacrifice myself for others.
I will not live the way the rule demands I do.

My name is not 1117.
I will not be what someone else wants me to be.
I am me. I will be me.
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