I’m afraid
To go somewhere I have the right
I’m afraid
That someone will threaten my life
So many people have passed away
At the hand of another shooting
But at 16, should I be afraid
That the next one could be me?

He looked for the gun but couldn't find it
Frenzied angry,
Emotionally wrecked
Desperate to get his hands on a trigger,
Cold familiar handle and feel
He missed the days of passive purpose,
A father's love felt from wars gaze
His thoughts fixed
One shell to end the arguments forever
Inside his head,
Inside his bed,
Inside the lead
But he looked for the gun and couldn't find it.

In my homeroom class, we don't have a seating chart.
But I still sit as far away from the door as I can.
Subconsciously it's probably because of a school shooting.
I've been anticipating one to strike at my small high school for a couple years now.
It's probably because of a lock down we had a couple years ago when I was still in middle school.
There were armed men on campus.
We had to be silent for hours.
I was in choir at the time.
Over 100 of us were squeezed into a small space.
There were girls crying,
my best friend was holding my hand,
I was having an anxiety attack.
I was only thinking
"Please not today..."

I'm not surprised anymore.
When another school is in the news,
it's deeply upsetting
but not surprising.
It's all I've ever known.
The Columbine High School shooting happened in 2001.
I was born a year later.
I've never actually known peace in this country...

There's a monster under mamas bed
he's made of metal and...
and probably has razor-sharp teeth,
he's got eyes made of silver.
His sharpened tongue hits the roof of his mouth with a click.
And he shouts out shots.

My baby sister found him yesterday.
He fought her till she died,
And mamas never cried so loud,
But the monster's still inside.

He stared down into those deep brown eyes.
He loaded the gun.
He took a deep breath.
He sighed.
It was now or never.
The small, gentle hands of the young boy were trembling, scared of the reflection, showing him holding a gun to his head.
He decided.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He pulled the trigger.
But not before he moved his hand away from his head.
The mirror in front of him shattered.
Society's opinion of him was in a similar condition.
But for the first time in months, he smiled.
Unlike the millions before him, he defied the world.
He was alive.

I've inherited a loaded revolver
from my dear ole father

Each .375 has its own name

             apathy       covetousness
   cowardice                misanthrope              
         misogyny      narcissist

Pa shot himself
Ma never taught me how to unload a gun