By Draven Copeland, Managing Editor
(Content Warning: This poem contains discussion of child death, suicide, racism and physical abuse)
Three days ago, a young boy was shot
He played with toy guns, looking up to his older brother
He played war with his friends, shooting foam darts from wooden treehouses
He prayed over food with his grandmother, hugging her goodnight before he settled into his twin bed
He prayed to make it out of the apartments with his friends, hoping to make it big like Kendrick
He died because an officer had a real gun and played real war on people that looked like that young boy
Two days ago, a young girl was shot
She played with Barbies, wishing she’d find her Ken when she grew up
She played dress-up with her friends, practicing with makeup and singing Disney princess songs
She prayed for safety for her family, fearing for her parents when they went out at night
She prayed for forgiveness when she said “Oh my god” instead of “Oh my gosh”
She died because a kid in her class had a real gun and played nihilism with his classmates’ lives
Yesterday, a group of young boys shot themselves
They played video games online, looking at the hot girls with giant breasts
They played pranks on the girls at school, hoping for their attention and maybe even a kiss
They prayed they’d get away with it, if they were smart about it
They prayed they’d all keep the secret to themselves, even if the cops came questioning
They died because they had real guns and realized that playing with people’s bodies kills them slower than the bullet would
Today, a group of young girls were shot
They played on monkey bars at recess, waiting to go home to their families
They played games in class, passing notes to one another and making fun of their math teacher’s lisp
They prayed for peace in their country and the world around them as they watched the news
They prayed for old men with bombs to stop dismissing human lives as collateral damage
They died because old men had real guns and liked to play real war from the safety of their bunkers
Tomorrow, we will all die
We play “life” with each other, spending our time who we have the most fun playing with
We play games and watch tv and buy things that we know we can’t take with us when we go
We pray for the next generation, hoping things will get better for our kids
We pray that our sins won’t affect our children, disregarding reality for an American dream
We die because playing and praying won’t change what real people do when they play without real consequences
We die because we live
We live because we die
