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Elijah Bowen Dec 2019
people **** people
with nothing but fingers and hair
and their very heavy breath.
their breath like a crow beak
before crucifixes of straw. like a tightening banishment of a lung.
remember when we would blow it
onto our car window and create that
consistent mirth of fog to
begin in?

the bodies riddled with bullets that flank
the highway are no such thing.
the schoolchildren lying face down in the corner of the closet are no such thing.
they are just winter coats with schoolchildren to fill them
for the time being.
no amputation of what’s mine
will aid them into the grave.
no mass communication grief. so
why would you call it a mass grave when in truth it was just a pit i dug to fill with crowds of people who died under the pretense that they had previously done so,
that nothing was new under the sun.

and when people **** people like people
do with their instruments
as ways of extending themselves into the world and into the marrow of our body
obliterating organs of people with their stretching of the muscular rib, shoulder.
one eye closes firmly.

it’s nothing but a hand gun
as if to say a hand eats the gun
and makes it whole.
as if to say the reinforced metal door
exit plan for people who are being killed by other people clicked shut and locked
15,000 years ago and i can’t quit slamming what’s left of me into it.

your kid is very dead.
but then again so is mine.
suppose they killed each other.
suppose they both made the mistake of dragging their small, stupid bodies through the trajectory of another body in the first place. in the chip aisle of a gas station maybe. in theaters this christmas.
in the midst of a good song that began playing on the lobby radio
just a minute before,
oh yeah before,
things really got going.

i saw people killing people
on television the other day
with their
whole bodies,
devouring themselves like surgical gloves
slick with oiled consumption
and bleeding out
and i could do nothing.
some kids died just because
and they told me so and i was told nothing could ever help them because they were just people and they were dying.

“breaking news” ended up just being people again.
in those moments, i was eating breakfast.
our houses were very quiet and needed me in all of them, grandfather clock over CNN, clarifying what has already been
committed and committed again.
the cipher was others lost blood.
Noah Aug 2019
I pledge allegiance
To the discourse
Of the divided states of mind
And to the guns
For which they hold
One crowd
Under fire
Inescapable
With funerals and bullets
For all
In light of the most recent mass shootings I thought it was time to share this. Summer is coming to a close. Mass shootings are back in session.
Ylzm Aug 2019
More wicked than *****, that ***** mourns
More evil than Satan, that Satan's justified
Lot, tormented in his soul, rescued
So shall it be the Righteous' lot
The Angel of Darkness shall descend
And ***** sits in Judgement seat
Alonely Ghost May 2019
How many more children have to die
before we stop believing the lie that
America is safe
and America is great
and that we all live under the rule of a really great guy?
Before all our children don't need to vie
just to survive
going to school and coming out again alive?
Before mental disorders stop being the
brunt end of a joke
and that maybe there might be hope
that those who suffer don't have to walk on a tightrope?
What about when we can start living in harmony?
When we stop judging others and
start shunning dishonorary
acts of violence
acts of hate
and acts of crime before it's to late?
How many more children have to die?
How many?
How many?
How many?
How many???

-Spider
This is getting ridiculous you guys...
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.
DG Mar 2019
I wrote a poem against gun violence because students should not have to go to school aching in fear of not making it home alive.

I wrote a poem against gun violence because so many people are going to take their own lives today.

I wrote a poem against gun violence because it targets women, minorities, to the point where they cannot be outside of their homes in the evenings.

I wrote a poem against gun violence because too many veterans are at risk of dying by their own hands

I wrote a poem against gun violence because mental health is SERIOUS

I wrote a poem against gun violence because I am an aunt of two and I want my nephews to live full, happy lives

I want to ask my legislators what they’re going to do when they come for their
children
Their spouses
Nieces, and nephews
Grandchildren
Friends

Call me a snowflake, if you will
If that’s what standing for what’s right makes me, then I’m proud of it
I’m the snowflake that wants you all to stay alive
That stands for what’s right when they don’t have the guts to
And sweetheart, this snowflake doesn’t melt
Kellin Feb 2019
fuel desperation,
and so are valuable
assets in the game
of spinning chambers.

one ***** is all it takes.

you might not believe
a person still wading
through adolescence
could harbor such
malevolent intent.

one slight is all it takes.

age is barely even
a consideration when
haunted by the desire
for revenge or need
of self-preservation.

one fragile moment is all it takes.

fewer years simply
equate to shallower
perspective, exacerbating
youthful impulsivity.

one bullet is all it takes.
Jessica Jan 2019
Everyday there’s a new story
A new plea that goes ignored
An outcry for protection
That the government “can’t afford”

A community is broken
A family in bits
A mother holds her dead son
It didn’t need to be like this

“My thoughts and prayers are with you”
What’s that gonna do?
It’s easy enough to stand back
When it isn’t affecting you

People post on social media
About the horrors of the crime
But how can they truly comment
When their school isn’t next in line?

A march to show the ‘big men’
What their little minds can’t see
Real humans suffering
At the word “death” they turn and flee

A 15-year-old boy bleeds
His life already done
He wants someone to hold him
His last word escapes, “Mom”

This is real, this is wrong
This is happening now
Children scared of education
In case they get shot down

So, now forget the hashtags
Now forget the thoughts
Now we need action
Not more ****** news reports.
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