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Kayla Hardy Apr 2019
I remember when I asked you,
October 2, 2017
what if something happens tonight?

I remember when you,
rolled your annoyed eyes
there is zero chance that something will

I remember thinking,
anger flooding my brain
I bet that no one ever thinks it’ll be them

I remember mourning,
the 50 people who died
they never saw it coming

I remember the anxiety,
following me to every concert
maybe tonight someone snuck through

I remember praying,
looking around at all the strangers
I shouldn’t have to fear for my life

I remember shaking my head,
wanting you to listen
we need stricter laws

I remember our fight,
your exhausting arguments
guns don’t ****, people do
We had to write a political/protest poem
Khoisan Mar 2019
Guns and money
bullets and power
running and hitting
chidren in the shower
Two four year olds died in the Crossfire
Gabby Mar 2019
Her name is Anima
And she's not Maria Clara
Nor mia khalifa
She's a girl with class
She's so sensitive like glass
And when she reply my heart beat is in blast
I don't want to rush
But everytime she calls me baby everything is like flash
Hit me like bass
I know this feeling will not last
But this is not just a crush
Cupid's arrow is just so fast
I try to run
Thinking the moon is not for the sun
This is like a game of guns
My heart is the prize
And who lose she will lost her life
I don't wanna lose
But just staring at you
I'm overdosed
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2019
Guns for fun
No escape
Blazing fire
A bath and body
Of blood

Hear her scream
Watch him fall
Drink in hand
Cigarettes
Smoke residue

Text help
Hit the locked door
Break glass
Trapped inside
Free from life
K Balachandran Feb 2019
dawn trains all her guns,
feeble light fights robust night;
the world's in the dark!
Alienpoet Feb 2019
Do you think they will ever care?
the rich and powerful and the big banks
own us with their guns and tanks
will they care when we are gone?

they siphon our money through a straw
Just so they can get richer through the profits of war
on everyone including the poor and disabled
the immigrants and working class able

We are slaves to the rich in this so called Christian country
full of those who would spout forth
I speak of my discourse
but wasn’t it Jesus who said
that it is as difficult as a camel to go through the eye of a needle
as a rich person to go to heaven
the hour is getting late it’s way past quarter past eleven
Or is the doomsday clock wrong
we live on knife edge don’t tell us we are strong
In being poor
heaven can wait for our souls
we need to be cared for...
Sarah Ouhida Jan 2019
in a holy room
she weeps
it is a Blue Sunday,
—don’t you hear her, Jim?

roses weeping
she dances
in the dark
it is pouring
and she is empty
— oh Axl, don’t you see her ?

she hopes she can touch heaven
she feels like gold
her blood is full of it !
dreamy,
oblivious
spiraling
she’s become numb
—Don’t you feel her, Roger?

she tries to find her way to heaven
a new life
but her wings are scarred
— can you get her there, Eric?
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