Neglected Plea

I have cold, hard skin, but don't let it fool you. Even with it's hard texture it's still smooth. The color of my skin is the finest of black. Much like my brothers and sisters. Yes, I say brothers and sisters because there are many of us. In many different shapes and sizes, but you chose me. The perfect 9. You were nervous when we first touched, but soon became comfortable as you clutched me in your bare hands. After some practice you finally figured out what made me tick. I guess I shouldn't say "tick" because whenever we did it things ended with a bang. But I should've sensed something was wrong. All those long nights together. The constant squeezes that triggered reactions no one was ready for. I couldn't stop you. No matter how much I wanted to. Even when I was empty you wanted to continue. Fill me with a dozen pieces and quickly let them fly. You used me for your crimes and now all I want to do is cry while you sit there and lie. I didn't want to, but you made me spit out those six pieces that brought down Mike Brown. I was there when you wouldn't leave that boy alone. All he wanted to do was to get home, but no, you wouldn't let him. All he wanted was some sweet tea and skittles. That's all, but you wouldn't let me rest. Not even for a little. You had me on your hip when that man said, "I can't breathe," repeatedly. But all you did was apply more pressure and caused him to leave. The worst was that chunk you made me let loose into that kid's torso. He was only 12! How could you? People look at me and say I'm a  monster, but I don't work unless someone's in control. It's not me that needs to be handled. It's those who are foolish and reckless that need to shackled and trialed. Instead of being set free and letting history repeat itself. Don't let people who can't handle me fire me. Or misuse me and have excuses as to why they can abuse me.
Sincerely,
A Gun.

This poem is about: 
Our world
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