Gun Control

Born and raised in a small town in Ohio.
Taught how to accept by my mother
who recently moved from San Francisco.
I have no idea why she would dig up her roots and plant us in the midst of
hate.
As a child I felt the hair stand on the back of my neck
as an adult spoke of gun violence
I always assumed everyone experienced nightmares of
murders.
I was in fifth grade when my teacher heard the voice of his distraught brother
screaming into the phone about the sound of bullets spiraling into six bodies
of children who have once sat in his classroom.
The Killer did not look like what you would expect a killer to be.
The Killer was a boy.
Barely into his life yet
he decided he could take someone else’s.
Three other people’s lives.
The Killer had a merciless smile that spread across his face
as if it was saying
“I wish I was loved”
He had his middle finger up as high as he pointed his gun
with a pure white shirt stained with his name
“KILLER”