Part I: The Armed One

He was just walking all alone.

Alone.

He could be my victim.

He could be our victim.

Nothing.

I have nothing.

I don't have a soul to savor, so I sear the sight of a shotgun in my brain.

We all pulled out our pretty, polished pistols, and all he did was smirk back at us.

Three others appeared and they all pulled out their pretty, polished pistols.

Next thing you know, we started running.

Running.

Running.

Running.

My heart was pounding fiercely in my chest.

I was afraid.

Afraid of death.

Afraid of getting hurt,

But I was happy.

Happy.

I was happy.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Then I heard the subtle sound of the contact of a bullet against the flesh.

There was a high pitched scream.

It wasn't one of our men.

It wasn't one of their men.

Just an innocent person.

An innocent person is hurt.

Yet we continue to fire, bullet after bullet.

Part II: The Murdered One

I walked down the street.

Ice Cream, I thought.

My mum, I thought.

NBA 2k17, I thought.

I was happy.

School was out.

I was free.

Then I heard the sounds that could cause a panic attack in a heartbeat.

Tears pricked my eyes and my knees buckled out of fear.

I wanted to run, but my legs were frozen.

My fear just couldn't liquify them.

Then there was pain.

Right near my heart.

Right near my happiness.

I fall backwards, screaming in shock and hurt.

I want them to hear my misery as I die.

I want them to save me.

I'm too young to die.

Yet, the gunshots overpower my voice.

Part III: Innocent. Young One

"Mommy, Mommy!" I yell as happiness took over my body.

"Baby! Come here Mommy's baby." I sit in Mommy's lap as she gives me a wet kiss on the face.

"Eww....Mommy that's nasty," I say as I feel crummy from Mommy's kiss.

She laughs at me.

Then I heard loud booms, like those booms from the Fourth of July.

Mommy then picked me up quickly and place me on the staircase.

That's what she called the "safe" spot.

"Stay here Mommy's baby," she whispered to me, kissing the top of my hair and calling 911.

The sounds were getting louder.

I was getting more and more scared.

I cried softly as I didn't feel the happiness the Fourth of July booms brought.

These booms were much darker and evil.

I covered my ears as warm tears streamed down my face, trying to block out my fear and the sound.

Boom.

I was crying harder.

Boom.

I could barely breathe anymore.

Boom.

I could hear screams slice through the air like the knives Mommy uses to chop up vegetables.

I placed more pressure on my ears as hot tears hit my face, trying to focus on my desperation for security.

Yet It didn't work, and I was still afraid.

Part IV: The Afraid One

I love my son.

My son loves me.

That will never change.

Though I'm afraid my son will be seized from the light before me.

I see a faded, yet strong arm grab him.

I watched him cry to sleep as because he was afraid.

Afraid.

I was afraid for him because he is afraid now.

They will chew my baby up, not even going to spit him back out.

If you're afraid from the inside, then you won't make it.

He won't make it.

God don't let my baby grow.

God don't let these streets take my boy.

Yet, I don't know if God is listening to me.

Part V:  The One Who Can't Do Anything

They called us in.

We rolled our eyes.

Why call us in if the neighborhood is so just going to happen again?

But we do as we told, and we pretend to listen to the mother as tears slide down her face.

"My baby was shot. My baby is dead! Catch them, please!" She pleads.

I'm afraid. The woman looks so hurt.

Looks so heartbroken.

I feel bad.

But I look away.

I turn away from her.

Because even though I feel bad, I don't want to feel bad.

Why?

Because it's going to happen again, yet all I have to do is wait.

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I decided to create a project on gun violence because there is some gun violence in my neighborhood. I choose to do poems because I can really express myself through them. Poetry is really close to my heart. I did five different perspectives one situation. In the situation, a gang tries to rob someone, and that starts out to actually be a gang member. This causes a gang war and a teenage boy get caught in the middle of it when he's walking home from school. The boy ends up getting shot and killed. I feel like this happens quite a lot in my neighborhood and that people just tend to kill the wrong, innocent people. In my work, I use a lot of repetition so that I can put emphasis on how important something is. I also use repetition so that I can show how this person feels or how this person keeps think about something. I just think it's so silly how people are losing their lives just because others don't know how to think straight. I really think we should really look at this as an important situation because now we brush it off because we're so use to it. My poems are to bring attention to how gun violence affects everyone, not just one person.

This piece is so close to my heart, and I really hoped you all enjoyed it. Stay breezy and take time for yourself today.

~Tatiana