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"shootings" poems
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
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Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
generation Z
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
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39
**The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard. Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots. Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced. The guitars go off and the ritual begins. First they assemble in the heart of the pit. In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army. Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal. I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art. We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption. While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense. While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording. While you send more people off to war for another countries resources. These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.**
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
The Pit
This is the Last Straw – and Something About Sacred Buckets of Holistic Ice Water ****** predators, human smugglers Starvation in the Sudan, civil war in Syria, mass executions in China Journalists murdered almost everywhere Fashionable infanticide, homelessness Unemployment, urban terrorism Mass ****** school shootings, wildfires, racism An unstable national government Anti-Semitism, border desperation Riots, arson, ecclesiastical corruption **** alcoholism, historical cleansing Skinheads, abuse, Khardassianistas Volcanos, the death penalty, free verse Affluenza, Jerry Springer, The View Herbal tea, antifa, anti-antifa And the soul-sucking existential despair Of inspirational singer-songwriters: Nah, not a bit worried about plastic straws But I must go now; The Voices are telling me To pour a bucket of ice water over my head (As long as it’s not a plastic bucket)
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Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
This is the Last Straw! And Some Inspirational Singer-Songwriters...
I am somebody Shot in the Head... Found the bullets. Coroner Said. A child of God struck dead. Gang related disputing Fools. Aiming cowardly bullets right at you. I guess praying prayers just won't do. There is no safe in these hard knocks realities' Truths. Our Sista child! Our mother child! All the while the bodies pile. Her body now adds to that 'the shootings aren't as bad as last year' body count. Can't even stand anywhere in your city NOW? Something has to truly give. There's a plague of rigid legalities, relaxed moralities, and political realities stealing the 'safe' from our dying breed. The Black man withering away in siphoning inequalities. Doubling unemployment stretches outward like a statistical wild fire.... Our present fact. There is a genocidal component to these criminal acts. Copyrighted (C) Published in the 2018 Edition of the Reconstructed Literary and Visual Journal at Governors State University.
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Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
**Chi Town Violence Steals Away the Community. **
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
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Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
Ammunition: a eulogy for parkland
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
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31
We live in a time of uncertainty No jobs Climate change Mass killings warnings of pandemics Where is our utopia where is our heaven on Earth 1900's we had San Fransisco's earthquake McKinley was assassinated First Nobel prize The Tunguska Event nothing as changed in my eyes 1910's we had Spanish flu The sinking of the unsinkable ship, the Titanic and World War 1 What else is needed to say about this decade nothing changed as the human race lived on 1920's we had Discovery of penicillin The great depression and prohibition 1930's we had Bonnie and Clyde Hindenburg disaster Discovery of Pluto Al Capone imprisoned 1940's we had World War 2 Mount Rushmore completed Big bang theory formulated Israel founded Nothing changed but who knew 1950's we had Castro becomes Dictator of Cuba Laika the dog goes into space Korean War began History never changed and neither will the Human Race 1960's we had The rise of the Berlin wall First man on the moon Vietnam War Nothing changed and won't any time soon 1970's we had First test tube baby Tangshan Earthquake Kent state shootings Elvis died 1980's we had Chernobyl Tiananmen square massacre Exxon oil spill Nothing changed and never will 1990's we had Oklahoma city bombing Princess Diana died Columbine massacre World Trade Center bombed End of the Cold War 2000's we had Hurricane Katrina Pluto reclassified Obama elected September 11th 2010's we had Haiti Earthquake Japan Earthquake Bin Laden killed BP oil spill England riots Brazil riots China banned time travel. We're only 4 years in. **** sapiens are nearly 200,000 years old nothing changed and never will
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Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
Nothing Changed
We live in a time of uncertainty No jobs Climate change Mass killings warnings of pandemics Where is our utopia where is our heaven on Earth 1900's we had San Fransisco's earthquake McKinley was assassinated First Nobel prize The Tunguska Event nothing as changed in my eyes 1910's we had Spanish flu The sinking of the unsinkable ship, the Titanic and World War 1 What else is needed to say about this decade nothing changed as the human race lived on 1920's we had Discovery of penicillin The great depression and prohibition 1930's we had Bonnie and Clyde Hindenburg disaster Discovery of Pluto Al Capone imprisoned 1940's we had World War 2 Mount Rushmore completed Big bang theory formulated Israel founded Nothing changed but who knew 1950's we had Castro becomes Dictator of Cuba Laika the dog goes into space Korean War began History never changed and neither will the Human Race 1960's we had The rise of the Berlin wall First man on the moon Vietnam War Nothing changed and won't any time soon 1970's we had First test tube baby Tangshan Earthquake Kent state shootings Elvis died 1980's we had Chernobyl Tiananmen square massacre Exxon oil spill Nothing changed and never will 1990's we had Oklahoma city bombing Princess Diana died Columbine massacre World Trade Center bombed End of the Cold War 2000's we had Hurricane Katrina Pluto reclassified Obama elected September 11th 2010's we had Haiti Earthquake Japan Earthquake Bin Laden killed BP oil spill England riots Brazil riots China banned time travel. We're only 4 years in. **** sapiens are nearly 200,000 years old nothing changed and never will
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77
Terrorism, **** Car bomb, ********** She feels vulnerable, No love to keep her warm 9/11, kidnap, Human trafficking... She’s been forgotten, Left alone in the dark Serial killers, H1N1, Child molesters, *** She shudders with the cold, And Port Au Prince is flattened Hijack, ****** Drive-by shootings... She feels groggy, Influenza sets in Weapons of mass destruction, Cuban nuclear tests... There starts a tingle in her nose, Her eyes pinch shut Genocide, organs on the black market, Xenophobia, suicide bombers... With a bellow from her bowels, From flaming ice the cumulus anvil that infects the world
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May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
The day the earth sneezed
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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Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
Questions (a poem on mass shootings)
They say I am too young to understand the way the world works. They say it as if I'm not already aware of the wars in foreign lands or violence in our homes. As if I don't know of the fear of death. The price of freedom. The cost of living. They say it as if I don't know about the shootings or the homicides. As if I'm unaware of those making a living off of selling poisons to others Or of the ones who sell themselves to stay alive. They think I don't know about *** drugs, death, fear, pain, or life itself. Nothing is hidden in this world. Your children grow up knowing about horror and crime. Its ridiculous to shelter them from what they already know. You believe they are innocent until they turn 18, But little girls and boys grow up with pain. There are no thoughts that you can contain. They will find answers to the questions even if you dont want them to be found.
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Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
Knowledge has no age
I remember when MTV was in its prime, A new voice to represent the new boom Babies growing up since the 80s Louder still through the troubling decades (Maxed out credit no head room) After —the punks in nirvana and rapping clergy It was the only channel on Youthful rebel yell —honest news I remember it pretty well Shaping us generation x y and Personal Jesus New wave good bye to when Childhood then without pain of malnourished Africa or nukes threatening our Cruel summers Were we happier then? So what happens to the music Rockstars rip van wrinkle Geriatric hall of fame (No one lives forever Reruns with the ****** & mr. Ed Now that old neighbor’s dead) Television Nowadays Seem more gangster School shootings terrorists On the train, kamikaze planes, It’s all the same ole Bling kablam oh bits ******* please Redirecting our attention To WMD *** Where the hells are we? I remember back then On MTV —Nicki Minaj says Between the hysterics of police brutality She said Happiness is living your life Without struggle, That stuck with me Because we all watch the tube We all search for meaning Sadly defining what happiness May look like Real World and paradoxical reality TV Para socially defunct Clarity Conditioned to continuously Stay tuned Brief message of empty Hypnosis a pure form of business Wall Street Boulevard of broken dreams I want my Happy. What do I mean To be? Life ***** lately The human condition Talking too much Refusing to see No more talking heads too much Bla bla ******** I want my MTV . Happy . My generation We are the world freedom And yes, Peace. Man kindly as one Symphony And street, a melting *** Of diversity I remember the music The future I had hope to see Behind the shades Circa 80s 90s (Fossils) What time is it then? When will we Begin Again Don’t worry be happy Run Forest run!
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Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:55 PM UTC
MTV Happy
I remember when MTV was in its prime, A new voice to represent the new boom Babies growing up since the 80s Louder still through the troubling decades (Maxed out credit no head room) After —the punks in nirvana and rapping clergy It was the only channel on Youthful rebel yell —honest news I remember it pretty well Shaping us generation x y and Personal Jesus New wave good bye to when Childhood then without pain of malnourished Africa or nukes threatening our Cruel summers Were we happier then? So what happens to the music Rockstars rip van wrinkle Geriatric hall of fame (No one lives forever Reruns with the ****** & mr. Ed Now that old neighbor’s dead) Television Nowadays Seem more gangster School shootings terrorists On the train, kamikaze planes, It’s all the same ole Bling kablam oh bits ******* please Redirecting our attention To WMD *** Where the hells are we? I remember back then On MTV —Nicki Minaj says Between the hysterics of police brutality She said Happiness is living your life Without struggle, That stuck with me Because we all watch the tube We all search for meaning Sadly defining what happiness May look like Real World and paradoxical reality TV Para socially defunct Clarity Conditioned to continuously Stay tuned Brief message of empty Hypnosis a pure form of business Wall Street Boulevard of broken dreams I want my Happy. What do I mean To be? Life ***** lately The human condition Talking too much Refusing to see No more talking heads too much Bla bla ******** I want my MTV . Happy . My generation We are the world freedom And yes, Peace. Man kindly as one Symphony And street, a melting *** Of diversity I remember the music The future I had hope to see Behind the shades Circa 80s 90s (Fossils) What time is it then? When will we Begin Again Don’t worry be happy Run Forest run!
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83
A seemingly fine day ruined with one headline. Then another. And another. And by the time my phone stops buzzing the news couldn't be any clearer. We lost a battle today. A battle for basic humanity, a battle to our own autonomy. "Women" lost. "Women" should be afraid. "Women". "Women". "Women". Every headline I read talks about how scary the world is for women. Yes, the world is scary for women...or anyone with a ****** I don't want to make this about me. Because it's not. It's about every transgender man that fights for healthcare on a daily basis. It's about every non-binary person assigned female at birth who can get pregnant. and yes....it's about women. It's about people (men and women) who think their ideals should determine what I do with my body. It's about every pastor, minister, judge, and human being who feels they have a say in how my life is lived. Poetry has always been and will always be political. Poetry is art and art is expression of feeling. Today....I'm ****** I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. The same feeling of dread I felt during the 2016 election. The same feeling of dread I felt the night of the Pulse Orlando shootings. The same feeling of dread I feel every time I think of wearing my trans pride shirt out in public. I'm not afraid to say how absolutely terrified I am....I'm just afraid for whatever is coming next. Sincerely, - Your friendly ****** having transman.
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Jun 24, 2022
Jun 24, 2022 at 10:26 PM UTC
Roe V. Wade - And the world caught fire
the code red alarm rings echoing in the halls we drop to the floor almost in unison is this the end? the teacher the one who we trust to protect us is just another sheep in this herd of fear nobody is safe nor are we above anyone else we are equal we are shaking as we hug the ground waiting waiting to be slain waiting to be saved but still waiting i am lucky to say it was only a drill but for those across the country they weren't that lucky they were shot at they were killed they watched their loved ones die we live in a country where guns matter more than our kids where an AR-15 can be purchased by anyone but when tragedy strikes people act shocked they send their prayers their thoughts **** that. prayers and thoughts don't do anything they don't bring back those we have lost they don't take the grief away from us things won't change until we start a riot until we can really make a change we are the home of mass shootings we need to change that
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Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
the active shooter
grey skies roll clouded tropical undercurrents of future falls shrouding skies and shifting seas from sad-eyed lowlands to mountain highs and we as trees shiver branches ever extending shootings in the breeze at arm’s reach we never touch planted too far apart and as such falling droplets slip through fingers and shatter the ground an endless coming down our roots soaked through spent and craving more all around aroused from slumber the petrichor grows slowly floating up and filling the air
0
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
the first rain
Society moves like a bullet And there's no way to cool it We're not big fans of reflection So we become slaves to deflection Bouncing off of hard surfaces Like limiting gun purchases Constriction isn't part of or vocabulary Proliferation is all we know Watching weapon supplies grow I live in a country Riddled by bullets Bullets that blast through our ****** body Though the holes in our mind are bigger When we can **** those we think are naughty We become judges when we pull the trigger But the media makes mountains out of molehills And it is for those exaggerated reasons we **** We are stuck in a bullet storm When TV advertises bullet **** This helps make bullets the norm So we treat mass shootings with a familiarity Because we can't acknowledge the only similarity Is obviously the gun We're blinded by the sun Of defense contractors They're negative reactors When we purpose a change The conversation they rearrange By firing in every possible direction This is the aforementioned deflection And it works You can tell because people are dying Or standing in the street crying Or watching the news sighing Bullet time has wooed us Bullet crimes have moved us There are people who gain wealth From our diminishing health They hold society on their rope And the only way we can cope Is to ****** that rope from their greedy grasp and pull it But that's hard to do while being punctured by bullets
0
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
Bullet
***** Hands Are they clean? Pontius Pilate, washing those hands that night, now are the filthy deeds made white! America, do tell about the politicians blind-eyed toward homeless people in the streets, tell me about children starving to death? Does a wealthy man cleanse hiimself as the blood leaves his hands? Banning guns & glocks, as girls are sold into slavery, in the blocks. A gift for kids to go to school It's not a gift to get shot up. From poverty to bullies to school shootings, Mrs. Liberty has lost her footing. When we go home, locking doors and turning the noise up, is washing of the hands with soap, making us whole?
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Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 11:48 PM UTC
***** Hands
Target on the faces of my friends The headlines detail more school shootings One-sided consequences of uneducated masses I’m an ******* but you made me this way Gain knowledge of the whole truth Before the mind sets in stone Outside the main entrance Count them off One by one My end Our end
0
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 6:16 AM UTC
Yearbook Pictures
Shootings, shootings everywhere Forty-nine face down in the mud But who will save our rainbow lives When we can't give rainbow blood?
0
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
Orlando Massacre 13/06/16
“you ain’t a man until you’re given a gun.” he said. but I knew better. giving a boy a gun doesn’t make him a man. it makes him a boy with a gun. my hands were made for pens, not glocks. I told him his were too. he laughed and said, “nah, my hands are made the same as every other boy on this block. you cut off my finger, it’s still gon’ bleed.” I tried to argue but he said, “these hands steal **** money, jewelry, clothes. hell, these hands steal lives!” and he was right about that. he had the same dirt on his hands that any other boy around here had. still, I think his hands were made for pens, not glocks. maybe he would’ve picked up a pencil if his hands hadn’t gotten so used to holding a gun. he was nineteen. he was young and angry and ready to fight, and he didn’t know exactly why, but he knew he had to be. the streets here are where people disappear when it gets dark, and where no one asks questions when the sun comes up. there are no flowers growing next to the sidewalk. here, there are bags of crack and gold chains and Cuban cigars. there are plants here, but no flowers. I was taught that here, they don’t follow laws, but they need to follow rules. most rules here are unwritten. instead, they are ingrained into the street’s children, a mantra that you could die for not remembering. he said, “if I die, it’s gon’ be sprawled out on concrete. no way I’m going down without a fight.” here, they are still fighting wars that ended years ago everywhere else. here, they grow up without mothers and fathers. they learn to feed themselves as soon as they no longer need a baby bottle. here, it is strange to not join in on the violence. it is strange to not participate in drive-by shootings. it is strange to not want revenge. here, strange is dangerous. things are the way that they are and this is the way they have always been. here, he was any other nineteen-year-old boy. here, they would say he died naturally. he stepped a little too far into view and a bullet struck him in the right spot. or the wrong spot, depending on how you see it. quick and almost painless for him, but that hurt moved on to everyone else. here, there are no rights and no wrongs. things are not good or bad. things simply are. his mama sobbed when she heard what happened. she cried for him, but also for every other boy on the block. she cried for the boy who ended her son’s life, because she knew he wasn’t any different than any other boy here. she cried for all the mothers who lost their sons, and for all the children born into this life. here, they don’t have to die for you to lose them. this life takes them from you, dead or alive. he was a friend, and a brother, and a son. he could’ve been a writer, or an athlete, or a ******* astronaut for all I know. but in the end, he was only a boy with a gun. here, they call that a man.
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Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 12:52 AM UTC
stolen by the streets
“you ain’t a man until you’re given a gun.” he said. but I knew better. giving a boy a gun doesn’t make him a man. it makes him a boy with a gun. my hands were made for pens, not glocks. I told him his were too. he laughed and said, “nah, my hands are made the same as every other boy on this block. you cut off my finger, it’s still gon’ bleed.” I tried to argue but he said, “these hands steal **** money, jewelry, clothes. hell, these hands steal lives!” and he was right about that. he had the same dirt on his hands that any other boy around here had. still, I think his hands were made for pens, not glocks. maybe he would’ve picked up a pencil if his hands hadn’t gotten so used to holding a gun. he was nineteen. he was young and angry and ready to fight, and he didn’t know exactly why, but he knew he had to be. the streets here are where people disappear when it gets dark, and where no one asks questions when the sun comes up. there are no flowers growing next to the sidewalk. here, there are bags of crack and gold chains and Cuban cigars. there are plants here, but no flowers. I was taught that here, they don’t follow laws, but they need to follow rules. most rules here are unwritten. instead, they are ingrained into the street’s children, a mantra that you could die for not remembering. he said, “if I die, it’s gon’ be sprawled out on concrete. no way I’m going down without a fight.” here, they are still fighting wars that ended years ago everywhere else. here, they grow up without mothers and fathers. they learn to feed themselves as soon as they no longer need a baby bottle. here, it is strange to not join in on the violence. it is strange to not participate in drive-by shootings. it is strange to not want revenge. here, strange is dangerous. things are the way that they are and this is the way they have always been. here, he was any other nineteen-year-old boy. here, they would say he died naturally. he stepped a little too far into view and a bullet struck him in the right spot. or the wrong spot, depending on how you see it. quick and almost painless for him, but that hurt moved on to everyone else. here, there are no rights and no wrongs. things are not good or bad. things simply are. his mama sobbed when she heard what happened. she cried for him, but also for every other boy on the block. she cried for the boy who ended her son’s life, because she knew he wasn’t any different than any other boy here. she cried for all the mothers who lost their sons, and for all the children born into this life. here, they don’t have to die for you to lose them. this life takes them from you, dead or alive. he was a friend, and a brother, and a son. he could’ve been a writer, or an athlete, or a ******* astronaut for all I know. but in the end, he was only a boy with a gun. here, they call that a man.
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102
All I can see is a wasteland of stone, glass, metal, and wooden rubble in an open air prison where children are living. Six thousand bombs, stirring up thick clouds of grey dust, obscuring the horrors people are enduring. The attackers are barely even warning people to move on. The exits are blocked. The power and water is off. The suffering doesn’t stop, and these civilians are unable to leave. How are you unable to see the hell spring of grief that is burning human beings, the furnace that still cooks even when no one bothers to look because all of the crooks were just waiting for the perfect excuse to make the news with a justified genocide. Mass ****** and more oppression with the weapons America supplied, and guess what, another child just died, more parents got radicalized, and if they survive will you be surprised if hate is the new demoncont. that wears their tired red eyes. The rich guys lied and decided that unequal retaliation is perfectly justified, so we are on a road to the extinction of human decency as the world murders our collective humanity. Crack, boom, the sound of thunder blooms orange heated chaos, breaking the foundation an entire building. A whole family line gets an early burial, as what’s left of my heart gets carried inside, popped in a box to be buried alive, because their beat was the same as mine. Nothing I write will change the minds of those unwilling to listen and see people who are close to total annihilation, as deserving of love, and compassion, but even so I am still asking. Help, please, help!?! Instead we get beheadings, mass shootings, ****** assault, retaliation, and the expectation of more tragedy to come. I can easily condemn violent actions taken, but I need to understand the origins of this rocky foundation, and potential solutions, because I can’t stand the horrors I am facing without eventually breaking.
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Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 8:46 AM UTC
Untitled
All I can see is a wasteland of stone, glass, metal, and wooden rubble in an open air prison where children are living. Six thousand bombs, stirring up thick clouds of grey dust, obscuring the horrors people are enduring. The attackers are barely even warning people to move on. The exits are blocked. The power and water is off. The suffering doesn’t stop, and these civilians are unable to leave. How are you unable to see the hell spring of grief that is burning human beings, the furnace that still cooks even when no one bothers to look because all of the crooks were just waiting for the perfect excuse to make the news with a justified genocide. Mass ****** and more oppression with the weapons America supplied, and guess what, another child just died, more parents got radicalized, and if they survive will you be surprised if hate is the new demoncont. that wears their tired red eyes. The rich guys lied and decided that unequal retaliation is perfectly justified, so we are on a road to the extinction of human decency as the world murders our collective humanity. Crack, boom, the sound of thunder blooms orange heated chaos, breaking the foundation an entire building. A whole family line gets an early burial, as what’s left of my heart gets carried inside, popped in a box to be buried alive, because their beat was the same as mine. Nothing I write will change the minds of those unwilling to listen and see people who are close to total annihilation, as deserving of love, and compassion, but even so I am still asking. Help, please, help!?! Instead we get beheadings, mass shootings, ****** assault, retaliation, and the expectation of more tragedy to come. I can easily condemn violent actions taken, but I need to understand the origins of this rocky foundation, and potential solutions, because I can’t stand the horrors I am facing without eventually breaking.
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17 years since 911 Safety has never returned To the free world School shootings now rule Our headlines... Saudi Arabia still Our closes allies... Police still shooting Our unarmed black men... The industrial military complex Bigger than ever President still doing The bidding of the 1% $$$$$ Innocent people died We were blind sighted We came together Only to become Completely undone!
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Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
17 YEARS SINCE
11:11 and fallen lashes fountains, wells, and shootings stars even my birthday wishes crossing my fingers, and crossing my heart You’re my wish, always has, always will be just a kiss is enough to pacify me seeing your face makes my heart burst and it feels so good even though it hurts you’re my wish, nothing more just a kiss, that’s all I ask for
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Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
Wish
**Lacking of life now I lol on my fine divan** *Laziness often lacks the power of rapture as in sofa or bedsprings* **Labour of love her for large obese lobster me** *Mermaids capture me a symphony of sea-sick rasping tongues lick our lumps* **Little old lady typing the language of love** *A real cyber date computer romance limits operational life's love* **Laughing over lines of disco **** pure ******* *Lewd obscene language grasping lemon or lime highs to count Hollywood star shootings* **A full length of life the longing off, lay proceeds** *Lady of the Lake lunging our lisps sound depths we are - breathing harmony* **The land of Lincoln legion of Lucifer's Lord** *landscaping of lawns, losing our liberty's law, leaving on lights, blinding* **Lots of Laughs or 'lol' populist abbreviation** *language often less, leftovers of literate gone to libraries of late*
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May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
AL THNGS GRW WTH LV JST AS BAUTY IS A FDNG FLWRSW YR WLD OTS WTH ME BBY