Original Poetry: Why More Guns Will Result in More Black Youth Dying
Guns don’t feel.
With no rhyme or reasons or intent
Guns– Kill. Habitually.
Without asking names or stories.
Regardless of color, age, nationality or background.
Guns sin. Blindly.
With eyes closed.
Guns Shoot into the darkness,
Bullet holes filled with dreams of those hit while sleep walking
Guns slice lives into pie graphs.
Once whole, now half.
Guns don’t and doesn’t cry.
Tears not shed for justice, nor injustice.
Guns is ambivalent.
Never certain is what comes to past, is
Guns never laughs.
Senses of humor only cause triggers to be weak
Guns didn’t go to college
Never had privilege, or opportunity, or a chance at a happy life
Guns ruined 7 happy lives yesterday
Felt no regret for ending what he thought never was
Guns would not be objectified
Not by tools, or weapons, or systemic oppressions
Guns was clever.
Guns. Kills. Habitually.
And Youth remain one of his many victims.