A Poem for 'March For Our Lives'

18 years ago when I was a typical angsty teenager of only 17 years old and I still had a creative streak (which has now mostly died due to the mundane adult working life), I used to write poetry. One of the poems I wrote was about the gun culture in the USA. Even back then, from halfway around the world and at that young age, the gun culture of the USA which resulted in many accidental or intentional shootings, was disturbing to me. At the time, mass shootings were less of a thing but being from a country where it is very difficult to get our hands on a gun without stringent training, background checks and a license, it amazed me how people in America can easily leave guns in the house in a manner that is easily accessible to teenagers and young children, which had sadly resulted in many young lives being lost through accidental shootings.

It's even sadder that after almost 2 decades, the gun culture has not gotten any better, but even worst as mass shootings become an almost normal occurrence in the USA while the rest of the world, including less developed countries like mine, look at the 'great' US of A and wonder why the heck is it with this resistance to sensible gun laws which have been so effective in practically every other part of the world in preventing similar atrocities from happening?

Gun loving Americans will of course pump their fist at me, saying that a non-American has no right to question this and we can never understand the rights under the 2nd amendment, yadda, yadda, yadda, I've seen all the comments on social media. Quite frankly, the 2nd amendment matters sh*t to me, as I have a brother, sister-in-law, and young nephew and friends in the USA who I would never want to be another victim of a crazy gunman. It should be a shame that supposedly the greatest country in the world can't even have sensible gun control laws to protect your people, and even people from under developed countries with a much lower gun death rate wonder what is wrong with the US.

So from halfway around the world, my support goes to the children and young people making a stand this week to change what adults have failed to change for decades. Keep on marching for your lives!

Here is the poem I wrote 18 years ago:

The Bullet

I am named the bullet

I'm just a small and tiny one

Beside me lies my lover

You all call her the gun

We lie here in this closet

Each and every day

Laughing at your foolishness

This is what I have to say

I know that my existence

Is merely to cause harm

To shoot down the next robber

Who awakens your alarm

You think that I'm your friend

You don't realize, you don't see

The times your suicidal teenager

Have eyed the gun and me

I often wonder why you never know

The pain my people cause

When we're used to satisfy your greed

And solve your petty flaws

Why you opt for violence

When you could have peace instead?

I bet I have a brother now

Embedded in someone's head

You say I'm needed for protection

To give you peace of mind

But once I've put someone in a coma

Will you feel better at that time?

Oh, go ahead and kill yourselves

Make your children cry

I'd merely served my purpose

To cause you to writh and die

So I'll sit here in this closet

Anticipating with glee the day

When I'll be used for your abuse

That's all I have to say

This content was first posted at my blog, wrilolo.blogspot.my