Dear Mr President
Dear Mr President,
My name is Fiona Martin and I am scared for my life.
On the news today I heard more kids dying.
416.
416 school shootings have happened since columbine.
382,000 children have been victims of gun violence in schools.
I have dreams.
I have dreams that one day I'll be something.
Mr President, who is whispering in your ear for the money?
Is money more valuable than the lives of the future?
The second amendment works so finely that when I entered school today
I was figuring out my escape plan if anything happened.
Exit the door. Take a left. Run down the hall, past my friends, out the doors.
Thats how I survive second period.
Ever since I was a little girl I would tell everyone
"Fiona Martin- youre gonna remember that name"
But now Mr President, theres a high chance you won't know me by shaking my hand
or by me winning an award. You will know me but the massacare that I was involved in.
One by one.
School by school.
Safe haven to safe haven.
Makenna Lee Elrod, 10 years old who had a beautiful laugh and loved animals
Naveah Bravo and Jailah Nicole Silguero, best friends who died together
All victims of the uvalde masscare along with 18 others
When will enough be enough and the senate empties their pockets and saves their children
Mr president, I am disapointed that you have made me a statistic.
How likely is it I'll live till graduation?
Comments
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cecilymock
Dear poet,
Your powerful piece reminds me strongly of Langston Hughes' protest poetry, particularly his "Let America Be America Again" and "Kids Who Die." Like Hughes, you've masterfully employed direct address and repetition to confront authority and demand accountability, while weaving personal narrative with broader social commentary.
Your opening line "My name is Fiona Martin and I am scared for my life" establishes an immediate, raw authenticity that sets the tone for the entire piece. The way you incorporate statistics ("416 school shootings") alongside intimate details ("Exit the door. Take a left...") creates a devastating contrast between cold numbers and lived experience – a technique that recalls Claudia Rankine's documentary poetics.
The emotional crescendo of naming individual victims (Makenna Lee Elrod, Naveah Bravo, Jailah Nicole Silguero) is particularly powerful, reminiscent of Martin Espada's approach to memorializing victims of injustice in his work. These names transform statistics into real children with "beautiful laughs" and friendships, making the loss devastatingly tangible.
Your recurring motif of dreams ("I have dreams that one day I'll be something") creates a poignant dialogue with Hughes' "Dream Deferred" – though in your case, the question isn't just about dreams deferred, but about lives cut short before dreams can even take root.
The structure of your poem, with its mix of longer narrative lines and short, punching statements ("One by one. / School by school.") effectively builds tension and urgency. Your closing question "How likely is it I'll live till graduation?" leaves readers with a haunting reminder of the stakes involved.
Keep writing with this fierce clarity and purpose. Your voice matters, and this poem stands as a powerful testament to the urgent need for change.
Would you consider exploring how this piece might evolve if you incorporated more sensory details from your daily school experience? The moment where you describe your escape route is particularly compelling – there might be more power in expanding those visceral details.
Keep speaking truth to power. Your words have weight.