The black man who approached from the rear of the gathering at my father's burial looked to be one hundred years old. He was frail, but not bent. He walked haltingly, supported by two black ... [+]
a good citizen that is,
but I was also very angry
and I couldn’t live like this.
I was mocked and beat and bullied,
and left empty inside
because I was just “different”.
There was nowhere I could hide.
My anger grew still stronger
I wanted them to pay,
to feel the fear I fled from
every waking day.
And so I had decided
and got my things prepared.
Then when the time was right I
crept out, no longer scared.
I found the one I wanted
an object of my hate
a person worse than Satan
it was time to compensate.
I pulled a gun out of my bag
and put it to his head;
I was going to kill those trembling lips
those eyes would soon be dead.
But then I paused to contemplate
my duty as a man
not just a man for, I am here,
I am American.
Gun violence, I had read,
is a big problem for us now.
and if we do not stop it,
it will end us all...somehow.
I wanted to be good.
I put the gun down from his head.
I could not add to gun violence.
I strangled him instead.