Phone goes off
Like a gun pointed at my head
Dropped keys at my feet
Like teeth or pill bottles

We were a group of four,           where
We always got into trouble,
One way or another.
We could never be...
"The Good Kids"
For lack of a better term.

Something happened,
However,
To the girl of the group.
It's funny, she said she              did
Have a crush on...
You guessed it.
The talented one.

The other thing was,                  she
Was my sister.
And, although I was...
Worried, I suppose,
She never ditched
The rest of us
For him.

What's funny is,
The crazy one,
Was madly in love...
With her.
He's the one
Who gets us into trouble.
He always wants to...               go
Somewhere, do something.

He's also the one,
With a twisted sense of humor.
And, as a joke,
He said with a foolish grin:
"Play this game of roulette
with me, and whoever wins
gets to keep the princess!"        It
was a simple joke, with a
sinister meaning
Behind it.

We weren't Russian, so
Of course the Talented one
Agreed. It                                     was
A foolish thing,
What the crazy one did next,
But he didn't know better.
He pulled out
His father's old dusty revolver,
And shot Mr.Talent,
Aimed at the head.

It didn't go off.
Mr. Crazy was                              just
Dying of laughter at
Mr.Talent's face of shock.
My heart leaped, but
My mind told me the gun
Wasn't loaded.
It couldn't be loaded.
And by how my sister
Was acting,
She had come to the
Same conclusion.

Then, Mr.Crazy
Shot himself in the head.
It didn't go off, don't worry,
But then he opened the gun,
And let a single bullet fall
To the yellow grass.
He fumed.                                       A
Grasshopper jumped onto
The bullet and quickly
Fled as Mr.Crazy sighed.

"Well, that was no good.
A boring                                        joke,
That was!" He chuckled.
Us three, we were in shock.
Once again.
"How could you do that?"
Mr.Talent screamed while
My sister stared at the bullet
In horror.

Years later,
My sister ditched her
Husband, Mr.Talent,
For the exciting...
Mr.Crazy. I was...
Surprised.                                   I'm
Still surprised.
We were growing apart,
At this time.
I even lost contact
With her.
And Mr.Talent...
Attempted suicide.
With the old revolver.
I don't know how
He got it.
He left a note,
Saying he was                          sorry
To her, and to him,
And to me.

I stayed with him,
As much as I could.
My sister never made
An appearance.                         I'm
Still shocked at that.
Mr.Crazy only returned
To take his gun back.

And, eventually,
Mr.Talent fell into
The only support he could
Find, besides me.
That, was fame. I was                  Not
Surprised, then.

He pushed me away,
Saying he didn't need me.
Which, was a big, fat,
Lie, but at the time,
He convinced me otherwise.
I was moving, and I was             A
Little too far away to
Keep going to his place,
So I did what he wanted,
And stayed away.

The results weren't...                     good.
Reports of him being
Hospitalized, everywhere
I look. I didn't understand
How he didn't die, then.
I do now, but
That's another story.
Every                                                     person
Who knew I knew him would
Talk to me about
Going back to see him.
But I knew the journey
Would be empty.
So, I didn't.

And, as a reward for
Waiting, I suppose,
I was once again invited back
To his friendship.
The next day,
He died.

beads that hit like bullets
sudden and painful and take you by surprise
but the damage is only temporary
and then i collect them
and give them sentimental value
which i know is something i shouldn't
because ill only lose them anyway

the other people who have collected beads
are guns
they shoot them when they lose them
some days they want their beads back but
they're mine now
and because of that we don't get along
im the one who gave them value
so they're mine and they're never getting them back

i dont remember my first bead
where it came from or how i got it
but one day it appeared
but now it's long gone
i wouldn't worry if i were you
most people never keep their first bead
they go missing after a while

on rare occasion im not being careful
on rare occasion i decide i won't act with ease
im reckless and careless
until suddenly
i pull the trigger, not on purpose in the slightest
maybe i said some things, did some things
knew a little too much about things
but because i pulled the trigger
only a couple will stay, the rest will go missing
and ill never get them back

my beads are weapons that are used against me
they never asked to be shot at me
but once i attached that value to them
they were stuck with me forever
and despite people telling me "let them go"
"the chipped beads, the bad beads"
"you don't need them. they're toxic."
but i keep them because i believe it's worth it

but then because of those few beads i keep
i slowly notice the others disappearing
one by one they're all gone
and suddenly without warning
my barrell of beads is empty
except for the last
and now the beads i once cherished so much
are gone
and now in the barrell of another gun

i pulled the trigger again

I'm not gentle nor cultivated bland
It's the wolf howling from my inside.
Its brunning my nerve and brain by
rising the blood flow within my vain.
It's the time for my struggle for liberation.
I'm not the  lamb nor domestic civilized
my wild heart calling, from rib caged inside.
Its want to stain red by shine of the sun
or see you hunting, shoot down by your gun.
It's the time for my struggle to wild liberation.
So, I refuse this poison,
break the prison and fly like the eagle
Yes I am wild and I love to be..

Your eyes are the ammunition
Your lips are the gun
Your hand pulls the trigger
Now I am done.

it clicked between us
it clicked
i dont know if it was
the gun
or just us
but at least, it clicked

I Don't Like Guns...But

they make my husband feel
like a man and help him bond
with our sons.  

I don't like them or how he
describes the way they feel in
his hand:  "Better than a ***",  
I heard him confide to his pal, Joey...

but something has to protect  us.  
I mean it's our right to be on guard.  
It's our right.

My husband spends all his
time with his guns:  cleaning them,
polishing the barrels, studying their
details.  And talking...talking about
his gun rights, about his next NRA
meeting or  what happened at the
last or that he can't believe how
good the right gun in his hand feels.  

I don't like guns...they made me                   disappear.


Written for GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO:  DUELING WITH WORDS TO STOP GUN VIOLENCE. ..a Facebook group