Oct 2018
Give me the bullet
The one that was meant for her
Let the wind shift and the shooters aim be off
Let me feel it- I don't know where it is but I can see the ground rushing to me,
Or am I falling?
Give me my last moments
A third person movie view of me on the ground and the chaos around
Give me the overwhelming feelings of the cold floor
Warmblood
Stiff hands and pain.
the taste of my own blood
The smell of it too
The view of the floor tiles and how my blood spreads smoothly over it
And finally, the sounds of screams and footsteps before it all fades.
Give me the first time my parents know.
The way the phone rings hours later
They don’t pick up the first time
Give me the look on their face
Give me tears so frequent and heavy that the earth shakes
Give me a play by play of the conversation
And then tell me who you will tell next.
Give me the first time my siblings know
A phone call to the oldest who lives far away
And a proper explanation the younger three as to why they found mommy and daddy crying.
Give me a way to tell them who gets what
Lava lamp to Jack
The ceramic faerie collection o Ada
And the stuffed animals to Reid.
Give me time
To watch the news reports that ant say my name
To look at my friend and how they decide to grieve
To read the celebrity sympathies, the ‘Thoughts and prayers are with the family” and the paper signs that rest at my candlelight vigil
Give me the time to watch my funeral
Poster boards with pictures that stop at 16
A Eulogy given by a stranger because my family can’t do it justice while they cry.
A procession of people in black that absorbs the sun
Flower tosses and final farewells
And a fleeting look at the marble grave the say
RIP
Give the fuure
About a month or so when the spotlight of American pity and attention swivels to the next thing And give the vision of a man at the library of congress who pulls out the Bill of Rights and writes my name next to thousands of others under a title of
“Kids Killed to soon”
The one that was meant for her
Let the wind shift and the shooters aim be off
Let me feel it- I don't know where it is but I can see the ground rushing to me,
Or am I falling?
Give me my last moments
A third person movie view of me on the ground and the chaos around
Give me the overwhelming feelings of the cold floor
Warmblood
Stiff hands and pain.
the taste of my own blood
The smell of it too
The view of the floor tiles and how my blood spreads smoothly over it
And finally, the sounds of screams and footsteps before it all fades.
Give me the first time my parents know.
The way the phone rings hours later
They don’t pick up the first time
Give me the look on their face
Give me tears so frequent and heavy that the earth shakes
Give me a play by play of the conversation
And then tell me who you will tell next.
Give me the first time my siblings know
A phone call to the oldest who lives far away
And a proper explanation the younger three as to why they found mommy and daddy crying.
Give me a way to tell them who gets what
Lava lamp to Jack
The ceramic faerie collection o Ada
And the stuffed animals to Reid.
Give me time
To watch the news reports that ant say my name
To look at my friend and how they decide to grieve
To read the celebrity sympathies, the ‘Thoughts and prayers are with the family” and the paper signs that rest at my candlelight vigil
Give me the time to watch my funeral
Poster boards with pictures that stop at 16
A Eulogy given by a stranger because my family can’t do it justice while they cry.
A procession of people in black that absorbs the sun
Flower tosses and final farewells
And a fleeting look at the marble grave the say
RIP
Give the fuure
About a month or so when the spotlight of American pity and attention swivels to the next thing And give the vision of a man at the library of congress who pulls out the Bill of Rights and writes my name next to thousands of others under a title of
“Kids Killed to soon”
