Just Poems

Plea To Those With Power

Your father didn't come home tonight.

You don't understand, but your mother is crying. You know he isn't coming home.

He was the victim of a terrorist attack, a bombing.

He leaves you, a mere child, and your family behind.

Your brother didn't come home tonight.

He was a nice boy, but led down the wrong path by his friends. You don't understand how this could have happened.

Your brother was shot and killed in the middle of a robbery.

Whether his so-called friends or the police shot him hasn't been figured out yet.

Your mother didn't come home tonight.

She was a police officer, a hero, the kind of selfless person you want to be someday.

She was called out to a protest, and shot while trying to hold position.

She was killed by one of the people she dedicated her life to protecting.

Perhaps I take an unpopular view on this issue, but I don't care. First amendment, after all.

Today, I found out about the Charlotte protests.

Six years and twelve years ago, I found out about 9/11.

Many times, I've heard of shootings, murders, violent protests, bombings, terrorist attacks...

This isn't the world I want to grow up in.

I am one of many who can claim that they are the future of the world.

Is this the world you want us to grow up in?

All lives matter.

This is my plea to you, those with the power to change the world.