Three destinct gunshots.
More.
One after another.
The glass shatters.
Screams rattle my brain.
Crimson soaks the floor.

I know one of them,
my biology partner.
Blood erupts from his shoulder.
The other,
on the cheerleading team.
Blood creeps down her neck.
Her hair is soaked.

My shoes are splattered.
Tears stream down my face.

It's one of those things you never expect to happen,
then it does.

We are all out.
We find our parents among the crowd.
My mother is crying.
She holds me tight.

And I see her dad.
The one on the cheerleading team.
He is on his knees.
No!
he cries.
He is drowned out by the chaos.

And I cry on my mothers shoulder.
For her.
For everyone.

Two days later,
I see Emma on YouTube.
School is off for the week.

I listen,
tears cascade.
I listen carefully.
To spitting out
our president's defense,
"I send my prayers and condolences"
What has he done?
How has he shown that he even cares?
To
"We knew this kid, okay? You didn't!"

If only you had listened.
If only you hadn't rejected Obama's strict gun control laws.
You,
Mr. President.
And you weren't there.
You have kids.
And can you tell me
you didn't take into account
knowing that seventeen families
had to kiss their sons and daughters
goodbye.
You don't know the grief.
You don't know the number of forever shaken victims.
You don't know the innocent students that were taken away from their lives.

You don't know our country.

For all your appologies.
Those hopless attempts that will calm everyone.
Why are their speeches, debates, marches?
This is calm?
Why are the kids taking charge?

For everything,
you heard Emma.
We
call
BS!

You cannot honestly think
anything
could replace what we have lost.
And your time is running out,
so give us a reason.
To trust you.
To make us feel safe.

Because right now,
we are falling apart.

And I wish
I could say
it isn't your fault,
but I would be lying.

I wish
the hundreds of people
all standing with you
have not been a part of this tragety.
I wish 
they had thought of the seventeen who are dead,
and the many that will follow,
if we don't do something.

It is not, in all,
completely you,
who made the mistakes
that lead to this event.
But it is up to you.
As the face of our country,
you must stand with me,
and the millions who beg.

Make our face
what it could be.
And do something,
anything,
for your country.


*I want to say, I am not a student at Marjory Douglas High School, nor do I live in Florida. But I've used what I know from the news to construct this poem.