“Thoughts and Prayers” A Poem From a Junior High Student

“Time for school!” my mom always yells each morning.

I wake up and instantly feel sad.

I also feel a little scared, but I keep that inside.

I know I have to go. I know I have to learn.

I know my parents have to go to work, both of them.

I wish we could all be at home together, like on the weekends.

Weekends are good. I don’t worry about getting shot when I’m at home.

We don’t have guns at home. My parents don’t believe in them.

We have a security system with cameras. We live in a nice neighborhood.

I hate guns. All of the bad things I see in the world involve guns.

War. Crime. Murder. Mass shootings.

I worry about that last one every school day.

I picture it in my mind. A live shooter on my junior high campus.

I sit in class and imagine an escape plan if I start to hear shooting.

I get Bs and Cs. I could get As if I was paying better attention in class.

But I have to survive. I have to be ready. It could be our school next.

I’ve heard about at least 15 or 20 school shootings this school year.

My folks say we almost never had school shootings when they were young.

They talk about teenage boys having guns mounted in their trucks.

They’d park them on campus. I couldn’t imagine such a thing.

Yet there were almost zero school shootings. I wonder what changed?

Kids are always talking about their depression. Their anxiety. Feeling alone.

I’m lucky. My parents are the best. I like my siblings. I have good friends.

I couldn’t imagine hurting someone, even though I’m anxious about school.

We’re not religious. We don’t go to church. I never have really prayed.

I don’t think it’s a lack of faith or not believing in God that makes people bad.

I think a lot of shooters are hurt people, themselves. Damaged. Sick inside.

I try to be nice to all the kids at school. I’ve made friends with lonely kids.

It’s amazing what just being there for someone can do.

To you, it’s just another thing. To them, it might be everything.

I’m always going to try to be a friend to someone who needs it.

I’m going to see if I can invite this sad kid to sit with us tomorrow.

He seems like he could use a friend. He wears a lot of black clothing.

People pick on him for it. I can tell he’s angry, yet quiet.

I’ve been thinking about reaching out. I’m going to do it, this time.

“Time for school!” Here we go again. Feeling anxious, like usual.

But today I have a purpose. I’m going to do something important.

I hope he’ll accept my invitation. I hope he’ll trust us and have fun.

Maybe we’ll all get to know each other and add another friend to our group.

The bus is here. The day begins. Math first thing in the morning. Ugh.

P.E. next. At least that’s mostly fun. We played pickleball in the gym.

History class. We’re learning about the Civil War. I’m not enjoying this class.

I hate the idea of Americans killing each other because they couldn’t agree.

It sounds as if it was a deadly, tragic war. Killing our own countrymen.

I suddenly hear gunfire. I thought I was daydreaming about the Civil War.

No, it’s going off close by. Screaming. Not the kind in movies.

Blood-curdling screams. Wailing. More shots. More screaming.

I’m terrified and look at the windows. How do these even open?

I’m panicking and my classmates are screaming.

My teacher tries to block the door, bullet holes rip through the door.

Bullet holes rip through him.

All hell breaks loose. I recognize that long black coat.

It’s the kid I was going to invite to lunch. Why didn’t I do it yesterday?

I want to tell him my plan. I want him to know he isn’t alone.

But I can’t move. I can’t open my mouth. His gun is pointed directly at me.

I’ve heard so many people offer thoughts and prayers over the past few years.

Every time there is another school shooting.

Weeks apart.

Days apart.

Sometimes even hours apart.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

They are appreciated.

Not by me. I’m gone. I’m dead.

So are the hundreds of other children who have died in school shootings.

They’re appreciated by other people.

Mainly by those unaffected by any given mass shooting.

I don’t think my parents appreciate your thoughts and prayers.

They’re devastated. Ruined. My siblings can’t stop crying.

My family will never be the same.

Your thoughts and prayers only comfort YOU.

The people who read about mass shootings and do nothing.

They don’t comfort me. I’m gone. A memory. A sad one.

They don’t comfort the shooter. He’s dead too.

They don’t comfort his family who also lost their son.

Thoughts and prayers mean very little when this never stops.

These mass killings only are accelerating.

This country loves guns too much to allow sensible things to happen.

Gun violence is now the #1 killer of school-aged children, per capita.

Think about that the next time someone screams about their freedoms.

Their “God-given” right to own guns.

Pistols.

Rifles.

Shotguns.

Assault Rifles.

They think that God WANTS them to own these weapons.

And if a few kids like me die each week, I guess that’s a small price to pay.

For their second amendment freedoms.