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Ylzm May 2019
Gun in one hand, bible in the other.
Is not the word a sword?
Why need for a gun too?
Or is it a justification to ****?
The same as a rocket launcher on one shoulder,
and the koran in the other hand.
Or a flag in one hand, and a sword in the other.
The image says justified intimidation.
Fear me, for I have the Authority.
But really, the Authority is only as valid
as there are fools who submit.
And the only true authority is the gun, or sword,
as you certainly know it.
And the flag, or bible, or the koran,
are but for your own conscience.
or cover for your lack thereof.

The bible and the gun:
an oxymoron;
a display of faithlessness,
the defilement of holiness,
a blasphemous act;
affirming the proud fool you are,
that says in its heart, there is no God!
Mya May 2019
I need to warn him
that he is in danger
I need to tell him to run
far away

I run as fast as I can to the place
                                                                   he is late
                                                                  
                                                                he has a calm face
                                                      something definitely happened
all I know is I need to help

               once again we argue
      no one winning
we yell out how we feel

                                                   but he just holds up his gun to me
                                        he says he will deal with his own conflicts

I can't do anything
but I have to

                                                 he holds the gun to his own head

I yell his name

                                                        ...

I stare at his body

                                                             ...

tears roll down
and all I do is just stare at him
I can't do anything anymore
my brother, he is gone
I got my inspiration from a show that I recently watched. This show moved me to tears. I cry for a while even after I finished it. And it was this scene that I would think about and cry all over again.
Gemma Apr 2019
Sometimes I wonder,
Is it the things that I do?
The things that I say,
am I too much for you?
I start to doubt myself,
I fill up with dread,
its got to be me,
something that I said?
I wrack my mind,
to try and find,
the moment we lost it,
what was left behind?
It started so well,
Both in high spirits,
but one little thing
and it all goes amiss!
I want to fix it,
But I don't know how.
We are both so stubborn,
it's gunna' end in a row!
So we both ignore it,
let's let it stew!!
But I don't want another argument,
Between me and you!
Let's pick up tomorrow
Where we left off,
Let's clean up the table
Let's rip out the cloth.
Let's talk of the things,
We've both said and done,
Let's discuss the bad things,
Let's remember the fun!
Try not to focus,
On all that is bad,
On on all of the anger,
And all of the sad!.
Let's look at the good things
And where we both are,
On all that we've worked through
The healing of scars!
Let's try to remember,
That we both want what's best,
So let's focus on the good times,
Put aside all the rest.
You know that I care for you,
Maybe a little more than I should?
But you know what,
I wouldn't change it,
Even if I knew that I could.
Because I really like you,
And I'm scared to let go,
Of all that you've taught me,
Of what I now know,
So please don't just give up
On what we've become,
I know we're both loaded
And good with a gun!
Of course I mean this metaphorically
And speak of the tongue,
But still your words wound like a gunshot,
And they make me feel numb.
I just hope we can work through this,
I need you too know that I care,
To know that I need you now.
And for you, i will always be there.
Here I am again. Not knowing what really happened, what words were misplaced by whom? I just want it fixed.
vic Apr 2019
I spring awake at four a.m.
Inscitvely clutching my phone to check on this kid’s petition
“End the G.S.A.”
The stress eats away at my sleep schedule
As kids use one misunderstanding to take away my heart and soul
A club I have inputted so much of myself into
And funny enough “Vic” has three letters too
I can’t sleep without their 300 signatures popping up behind my eyelids
Comments being recited in the most repressed part of my insecurities
300 people who are against one of the clubs that saved me
Saved my friends
Saved so many people
But there’s no room for a gay presence in Johnson County
I spring awake at four a.m.
Visions of the kid who keeps his gun in his car spring into my head
My chest feels open already
Have already bled out every ounce of pride in me
What more harm can this kid do?
Don’t they understand that by killing my spirit
They’ve already made storage container for their bullets?
I spring awake at four a.m.
Because I do not let myself feel any other time
Must stay strong to show that I am bigger than their hatred
That I will go on
So I refuse to let myself accept that ever-consuming fear that grows in my stomach
It’s just indigestion
Just me being another overdramatic queer kid
Just everyday life that I must adjust to anyways
I haven’t let myself feel since the incident occurred
And the reactions poured in
Drowning any sense of safety I used to feel
I am choking on their unadulterated bigotry
Gasping for air amongst the abundance of hatred
And I’m not sure if I’ll ever breathe right again
I spring awake at 4 a.m.
Because I guess it’s the only time I feel safe anymore.
School is a warzone for people like me
And I can't hide in the crowd so easily
When it's 1v300
So I'm desperately trying to hide behind my poetry
I spring awake at 4 a.m.
Because I don't know if my coping is working.
did not revise this at all, just a quick poem of my thoughts before i try to get back to sleep
Raziel Apr 2019
Cold heartless liar,
A gun loaded for the siren,
Behold and never ceasefire,
Pull the trigger
and
Spark the fire.
Kora Sani Apr 2019
if heart cells have formed
you take away our rights
you take control of our bodies
though what’s inside
is smaller than a grain of rice

neglected by the ones
who claim they’re pro life
they must be mistaken
there’s no sympathy in sight

to hell with the poor
and those seeking asylum
to hell with healthcare
that’s not a god given right
and to the lives taken
at the hands of a gun
thoughts and prayers to you
i’ll continue to have my fun

why don’t you say it to our face
we mean nothing to you
you simply love control
but that, we already knew
Ray Dunn Apr 2019
To be an assassin dispersing
into the crowded city street,
to blend into the masses
with a finger on the trigger—
simply because it’s your first instinct
I’m so immature I giggled at the fact that assassin has the word “***” in it, TWICE!!
Elijah Bowen Apr 2019
Here in America,
we improvise morgues
as needed.
in the cafeterias
or by the lockers,
near the ticket booths,
and at the altars.
We divvy up the dead.
Tally them
and report the number
like an answer.
13, 20, 49, 58, 6
Every death count
a timely national shock.
Almost as if  
our well-televised  
monthly tragedy
was ever anything less
than a game of roulette.
anything less than a matter of time
and time and time again.
Covering them each
with our bed sheets,
we try and stifle it.
Do our best to
staunch the the sights,
the noises,
(“just like chairs falling”)
the names
that keep bleeding out
onto our thoughts  
and tongues,
Far too much and
too often
not to choke on.

Here in America,
we’ve learned that  
horror is level-headed.
It is debatable.  
It is pangless.
It seeps, deep to the core,
perverting with a silent smile.
the steady, feverish dread
weaving itself into the mundane.
the “god help us”  
annulled by the
“respectfully disagreed”
the nightmare that lies  
always just underneath,
and just out of mind,
Until it insinuates itself
Again and again...

Here, in America
We line the bodies,
death slumped, and  
bled out on the pavement.
We arrange them-
Side by side.
Most are missing things-
a hat, a piece of face.
one shoe, a dulled pencil
(fill in C)
phones
buzzing on the ground
lit up with unread messages
(“Please call me”)
They are missing-
an upcoming  
7th birthday party,
(Star Wars themed)
They are missing-
their vacations.
their first dates.
their college applications.
job interviews.
kids.
fiancées.
Lined up lifeless,  
they are missing
far too many things  
to gather.
Anthony Mayfield Mar 2019
All they want
Is whiskey and a mirror
To see their faces clearer
Steer clear
They'll say
For they want peace and adoration
Yet they're stuck in emulation

All they want
Is a mirror and a gun
For dark reflective fun
Curse the ashtray
They'll say
It ruins their laundry whites
To gaze on their delights

All they want
Is a gun and God
To walk where sinners trod
Drunken Bible bullets
They'll pray
For when the darkness takes its motion
They'll fall to their drunken notions
Tell me: what does whiskey, a mirror, a gun, and God all have in common?
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