Shout (Gun Violence)

Shout

So loud the walls shake and the paint chips off in little pieces

Decorating the blood on the floors

And the blood in the hands of those who allow a child to possess a rifle

A child, whose only job is to go to school

Whose only responsibility is to be

Shout for the child

Whose body and soul is now anchored under the weight of the weapon in their hand

The power swaddling them, as they try to rock themself to sleep

The power gone as soon as they pull the trigger and bullet hits body and leaves a trail of red in the shape of its path

Shout as  the red keeps spreading, on hands and floors and mothers and sisters and

Shout so your throat is raw,

and your face is red,

and your mouth is in a permanent O

Shout

So forceful the white house can feel the aftershock

And the legislators,

Shaken from the initial wave,

Stumble to their desks, pen in hand

To write a law to make this right

Not to clean up the blood but to respect it

And make sure no one has to shout again

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

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