i cradle a 5 year old's body in my arms
watch the blood trickle from his chest
wonder if this will ever be okay to talk about
if we will ever be able to stomach it enough
to talk about the murder of 20 elementary schoolers
so the news cycle continues and they point fingers
at what is to blame— if it's the guns or the mental health
or the violent video games
and they point fingers so much that they forget
to actually do something about it
so the years pass and i hold the hands of
thousands with red bubbling at their lips
and i listen to the politicians saying now isn't
a good time to talk about it
maybe they want to wait for
the parents to stop screaming
the lovers to stop hurting
the friends to stop crying
but it won't stop
because the violence won't stop
and i touch the cheek of a dead kindergartener
wonder if maybe it's not that we can't stomach it
it's that we can and we do every single day
and that's why 20 dead children wasn't enough
to make us change.
-c.h.
YOU ARE READING
how the words come
Poetry"this is the poetry that has come from finally realizing it is okay to be okay but also not okay at the same time." ~ 'how the words come' tells the story of overcoming the aftermath of an emotionally abusive relationship. the book is separated into...
