Rainbow glass panes paint colours on the funeral floorboards where children would play hopscotch like the did with playground chalk.
Playing tag with brief touches of luck before the bang broke it all.
Of course, the school bell still rang before miss what's her face would call roll call.
That day, however, she did not.
Instead, she plays hide n go seek, choosing the coffin walls as her hideaway.
This is what I imagine anyway...
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds  
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
The state of Florida is now home to the two most deadly mass shootings in American history. Pulse Nightclub was attacked in my city, I have friends who attend Marjory Stoneman Douglas in Parkland. My little sister often fears going to school. I'm afraid to graduate and leave her. I want to be able to protect her if something happens. I hate that we have a reason to be afraid... That it's reasonable to have these fears. I hate it so f*cking much.
Meg Apr 15
I am alive by luck at this point.
I wonder if the gun that will eventually take me has been made.
Whose trigger will bury me.
How many bullets, like a flock of sparrows, will come carry my life to its final bed.
Today, I am alive but there is no law to thank.
If not me, then someone else.
Born into a game of chance we never asked for. Traded diplomas for obituaries. Traded graduation speeches for eulogies. Traded futures for an early grave. Forced to cash in their chips. We don’t want to play anymore.
And this too is eulogy. And this too is prayer. And this too can resurrect the coffin wood back to a tree. Can sing back alive whatever parts of you died with them. Whatever leapt in your throat at yet another headline.
Mourning until you, too, are a thing to mourn.
But we will no longer be martyrs.
We are the rude awakening to politicians who pawned out our safety, who bartered our lives for bribes.
You say “gun reform is not the answer” but all I can see is a bullet rattling like a pinball in an innocent student’s jaw.
You smell like gun smoke and
I can see the AR15 you're holding behind your back and
I guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them.
Give teachers books not bullets:
Kafka isn’t kevlar.
Bronte isn’t bulletproof.
And how sick is it that we must add school shootings to your list of proud american traditions.
Throwing opinions like punches.
How many more have to die before you decide your ego isn’t as important as you think it is?
And I, too, am buried alive
My soggy grave parting its greedy lips.
To you, my bones, when ground into gunpowder and mixed into water, taste like champagne.
My pulse, as thin as an obituary panting beneath sweaty palms, and sure
We are “just kids,”
But you are forgetting we are the next generation
And you autopsy your fists.
Call it reclamatory.
Lately, when asked “how are you?” I respond with a name no longer living.
And who knows if mine will be next
Performed this yesterday in my first poetry slam and won second place :)
Stella Apr 10
Why am I so weak?
Why can’t I be strong for once.
Why can’t I be normal?
Why do I live in a world of pain
This reality of truth
This realm of heartbreak?
Why do I live in a society where I fear for my life?
I fear the terrorists coming,
I fear the school shooters shooting,
I fear the threats that have yet to be known.
Why should I, or anyone
Have to grow up with this?
The constant threat of something coming,
The feeling of uncertainty when it come to school,
Wondering if I’ll be the next victim?
When will I be able to walk the streets,
Not wondering if I will get shot.
What wrong with today?
People ask.
Let me tell you.
I have to grow up
Living In fear for my life
I have to grow up
with the threats of terrorism
I have to grow up
Wondering if I’ll die today
I have to grow up
Knowing the world is falling apart
I have to grow up
Feeling as if there is always something bigger than me
I have to grow up
With no hope for a better world
This world is toxic,
I wonder when others will start noticing
Well, I hope you like it. Thanks for reading. I wrote this a while ago when the Florida shooting was more prominent than it is now.
Amanda Mar 2
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Binge-drinking on college campuses and escapism: the dangers of drinking to forget

Declinism: is the world actually getting worse?
Alyssa Feb 20
Bang!
I heard a firework go off.
I don't see any lights.
Oh, I think that was a garage door falling shut.
Or maybe someone slamming a door.

I don't want to think about what it might have actually been.
It's not like summer has come and gone months ago.
It's not like nobody has garages around here.
It's not like people slam doors loud enough for it to echo around the inside of my school.
It's not like I'm scared for me and my friends every time I enter the building.
It's not like that, I swear.

Everyone is scared.
Everyone is lashing out.
Everyone is on their toes.
Everyone is trying to become home-schooled.

We want to leave.
Not for boredom,
not for the next best thing.
But for safety,
for home.

Who's coming in the door next?
Who's going to stop them?
Who's going to survive?
Who is going to die?
oliver Feb 20
why should I have to worry about my school

becoming the next shooting range?
oliver Feb 20
How many bullets will it take?
How much blood will be shed?
How many more lives will be taken,
before any action is taken?

When will we learn?
As a country,
When will we fight?
When is enough,
enough?

Protect kids,
Not guns.
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