In case I'm not being clear enough .  58% of firearm deaths in 2023 were suicides (about 27,300 deaths) How many  is that on a per day basis? 75.  And that number has skyrocketed since Trump took office.
You wonder where all the daddies have gone?  It's either this or prison.
Why there's nobody there to raise little Johnny.
And you wanna get up in arms about people smoking or Plastic grocery bags ?

  AND  Your big expensive  "pop guns"  don't  stop
tanks,
jets,
or missiles in the sky,
Just your own ******  co-workers and neighbors
and a count down  to a  drunken self-inflicted goodbye.

Good bye and good riddance.
But the guns even after , don't disappear
the family keeps loving and keeping them
with obligation
it's clear. Waiting to **** again.
It's not a tool. It's not a hammer. It's not a cordless drill. It doesn't fix the drywall or repair your roof or get your car started in the morning. Stop pretending it's a tool.
You're not a fool.

Preachers of firepower sing their gospel so grand,
While stacking ammo like holy NRA cash  in their G.O.P. hand.
The enemy you fear? Isn't coming dear. Ghosts and shadowy  Fox news schemes.
The real threat is you?
Your own trigger and your twisted dreams.

You brainwashed your kids and in church .
hate and fear
the art of digital click war,
Marjorie Taylor-Greene outrage, memes, talking points galore.
But when it comes down to it, the   "battlefield’s " all to near,
And the target is staring back in the mirror, my dear.
Does  it look like   YOU   and  NO  T a   towel-head   or queer ?

The right to stop a king with a single shot musket was their intent.
One ball at a time, not 30-round animal death and torment.

You shoot the deer, the fox, the birds that  flee in fright,
But humans? They would be the only creatures on Earth to walk TOWARDS  a gun fight..
Pray to your ancient carpenter or part time goat herder
there  is no such thing as  subsistence hunting
just animal   ****** .

Domestic rage,
drunken misfire,
kids too young to know,
You preached apocalypse
BUT the smoking barrel steals the show.

Oh, the NRA hymns and your freedom parade,
Big guns, bold threats, so carefully displayed.
nothing stops those  tanks, the  jets, or missiles filling  the sky,
Just your own  delusional ignorance
taught and teaching  "men don't cry " .  
Good bye daddy      Good bye...   brother, uncle, guy
Good bye   good bye      good   buy  ...

So cheer for your rights, whoopty woo, hooray,
Build bunkers, hoard bullets, live in the fray.
The Second Amendment, a relic, a myth you pursue,
Mostly it  destroys …
The sorry MAGA  ******* that  IS  you.

So if you're thinking about taking that to some school yard or campus, do us all a favor and go back inside.
Everybody sees the truth that  you've so long denied.
This **** isn't capable of defending anyone's freedom. Not for more than 200 years. It's an object  of rage and fear turned against neighbors and fears.
Don't try to tell me that it's not weapons and guns that **** people. It's just another tool. I'm not blind or ignorant and I'm sure as hell not a fool .
You can't **** 30 people in under a minute with a rock. You do that with a 30 round clip and a  gun show bump stock.

Kristi Noem  down  in  the gravel pit gain
rounding up Mexicans and preaching bout sin
another innocent puppy in sight
be sure  to tell it again
about your abusive so called 2nd amendment right.

Sadly, they'll keep on doing this over and over again.
It's true,
as long as the NRA is allowed to sell this twisted
Second Amendment lie
to you.

He raised his rifle slowly, took aim and slowed his breath
He squeezed his trigger finger, releasing needless death.
Not far away some beauty died a sad unneeded end
The killer cheered and slapped the back of another killer friend.
Their trophy lay unmoving, eyes still open wide
No longer would he proudly run amongst his dwindling pride.
A photo took, oh look at me, I am the mighty man
Who shot and killed our future, just because I can.
No food was he providing for his children or a wife
No he just found it thrilling to take another’s life.
I’m not a violent person, never committed any crime
But I would hunt the hunter and gladly do my time.

It's a broken frame now
But it used to be the most beautiful view
Art isn't born without intention
The fear and anger mixed make it pretentious
Loved a picture because of its beauty, pots and flower
Blamed the person who made it
A broken mirror.
It showcases itself as a beautiful victim
Making sanity lose itself; it's a verbatim
Quiet souls try hard to fix the broken
Putting bandages over its narrations
Letting the shards cut the flesh
Saying, “it's what makes fear feel fresh”
Night was awaiting,
You left it complaining
The perfect picture in a wooden frame
How come it let itself be framed?
An easel wasn't its job after all
It felt the pressure of worlds and broken hearts.
Love was being painted on top
Envy was the only emotion for its wrath
You should've told me you were as fragile as a glass
The tension phrases of “Sorry” can't fix the broken pieces of glass

How will the guilt go?
When the souls of the past bubble up to sorrows

I played hunter once
Sitting in the deer stand
Tall enough to reach God
If we wanted to, and enough
Assurance to play God
As we were in the heart
Of a land whose creatures
Did not belong to us whose
Meat was not for our mouths
And as I aimed the rifle
Taking in the delicate
Posture of a white tailed
Beauty full gleaming muscle
Fur wet with dew and antlers
Reaching to heaven
I saw in the eyes of the buck
A shame that caused my finger
To coil back from the trigger
The understanding that I too
Have the wounded wickedness
Of a prey animal with a
Little heart full of disease
And I sacrificed my rite of
***** in my face and baptism
In blood to spare my own
Theft of a life not meant for me

a doe wandered into the clear path of the starry forest. three shots had rung out.
a buck lay flat on the clovers and tall grass.
a fawn beside him pawing the ground.
three frogs hopping in the trees.
down down down.
the doe lay beside the fawn as it denied the inevitable, inescapable truth.
he was gone.
she was here.
and the frogs sang a sappy tune.
"ohhh cry out sweet sorrow, the dragonflies skitter away! the cats are out and the mice are at play. whistle sour melodies and harmonious truth, the deer have crossed over, behind stayed their youth."
the young doe shooed away the silly frogs before the hunters heard.
poor fawn.
no mama in sight.

My roommates and I
always have something to say.
We talk incessantly, like chirping birds.

We’re all reading the same large print here, and It suggests that college is almost over.
We’re bleeding time and there are dreams in need of scheming.
It’s time to stack our chips with transactional relationships and hoard the things that matter most.

I have to admire the sheer attitude and bravado of these girls—their defiant strides,
as they face the invisible indignities and constant obstacles of job hunting.
(Where they’re required to behave while they’re observed and evaluated).

They have their resumes and they’re complaisantly ready to flex their appealing gregariousness.
All of the major playas are passing through—from established giants like (Amgen, Bayer and Genentech)
to biotech startups and research Institutes—to cull through the herd of Yale biomedical graduates.

I don’t get to play (interview) this time and it’s rough just watching the signs and plays from the sidelines.
I can’t help the feeling that I’m underperforming—even though my ‘Master of Public Health (MPH)’ program starts 10 days after we graduate. ‘Baby, I was born to run’— to steal a line from Bruce Springsteen.

Despite our separate paths—we’re like cats getting ready to jump in all directions—a bouillabaisse of intoxicating and terrifying excitement for the future is brewing, and we still have the constrictions of our current curriculum to deal with—like a snake, it still wraps around every aspect of our lives.
.
.
Songs for this:
born to run by Bruce Springstein
Time by Tom Waits
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_03.mp3