I am nothing but a target to you,
painted red and white
with a bull's eye on my forehead.
Something that you practice on
firing away until you hit the spot
that will end me completely.
But it's okay,
because I don't mind what you say about me.
I don't care that you take out your anger on me
because I know something that you don't.
As you **** your gun and take your aim
glaring me down as I smile,
you pull the trigger
and I don't even flinch,
because the only sound is an empty click
of the gun you fired too many times
and had missed.
So you see,
I don't mind being your target
and it doesn't matter what you fire my way
because you have no bullets
you have absolutely nothing
to attack me with
and I am so sorry if that's not okay... not.