shelter in place

all i can hear anymore is

the soft hammering of 

heartbeats like footprints in the snow, 

and the claxon 

is pouding through my temples. 

i wish i could think of something. 

really anything at all but, 

all that comes forth is 

'dear god, i'm too young to die'. 

we've heard it in the news, 

we've heard the heartfelt mothers crying through 

the reporters microphones like 

little lost birds, trying

to find their nest, 

but their nest was laying dead 

on the bathroom floor, 

algebra homework scattered 

all around, 

dyed red with a childs blood. 

oh god please, please

please don't. 

this used to be something fun, nuzzling 

up to your friend, smelling her hair, 

but all i can smell is terror now 

and

when I look around the room all i see is 

real fear. 

it's scary when it's raw; 

no sugar added now, so 

how do you like that? 

oh god please, 

we are just a small school. i don't know anyone here who 

would want to do it. 

well, i guess they say that 

you don't know until they 

are firing rounds. 

i saw the Sandy Hook PSA, 

the one with the girl who was in the bathroom, 

telling her mom she loved her, 

before the door opened. 

did i tell my mom

i loved her today? 

i've never really prayed before, and 

my balding baby head was never 

dumped in 

holy water. 

even the tough knot kids arn't 

even cracking smiles anymore. 

and i can't tell if i'm crying or, 

if i'm even alive anymore. 

i know it's probably a drill. 

i know it's probably not going to be anything but, 

what if? 

and when he knocks on the 

door to say 

'the drill is over' 

 

i swear to my own invisible 

god, 

everyone jumps a little. 

 

is that death knocking on our door? 

and just like that, it get's quiet again, and 

we all pretend like nothing happened. 

 

but deep inside i know we all had the same thoughts. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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