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Elementary SchoolIt's been five years
Sense I've been here,
The place of my fears,
The place of my tears
I guess I've just grown tall
The roofs are low in the hall
Tiny, low bathroom stalls
They never did clean my blood off the wall
Rocks were replaced for girls like me;
For kids who chewed them until their mouths bleed
I wonder if they still let kids play with bats
The worst they'd have to heed,
Is that they'll beat little rats,
I still shake like I did
Stepping up the stairs;
Right before my first blow to the head
Nothing hard, lost a few hairs
Over there I would sit and cry
I would beg just to stay inside
When they'd say no, I'd cry out "why"?
It was then, 8 years ago, I realized
No one was ever going to stay by my side
I guess our children's safety isn't a concern
Bull shit, this 'environment to learn'
Told my parents, told my teacher
They still beat me like an ugly creature
You all, just stood there…
You all just let it happen
You all just stood and stared
You all just let it happen
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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