50 miles West of Me Today

Uvalde should break us. Make us tear hair. Make us scream in the street.

Photo by Bexar Arms on Unsplash

A kid shot and killed

A child filled full of bullets

A daughter lost all her blood

A son slaughtered screaming

A niece erased from the earth

A nephew pumped with lead and holes

A 9-year-old taken from us all

A 7-year-old stopped from ever being 8

A minor murdered among many

A little one killed crying

A grandbaby butchered

A miracle massacred

A best friend brutalized

A precious child punctured with pieces of metal

A small American killed in an American way

A baby bled out

A little brother forced to take his last breath

A little sister’s last moments pain and distress

An ultimate innocent put to death

and I sat here safe sad and struggling
to write nineteen lines
to not repeat myself each time

to believe in the heaven they deserve

safe sad and struggling
down here

50 miles east of in hell.



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likes / wants / needs to write poetry apparently