Guns

Guns

I make music that sounds like Fourth of July every night

Names personally engraved in each of my hallow tips.

I swallow lead and metal as my soul cocks back.

Raped by the fingertips of death

People take their last breath as shots of reality are fired out like

rockets on a turntable.

And as the tables turn I am hidden and concealed cause

I was set to kill

I am what rappers talk about but have never held

I am what you’ll find hidden in your daddies draw

I am what puts you on a boundary line between life and death

So can you stop me?

Can you stop me?

Cause I instill fear

And make tears fall out the eyes of the so called tough guys

Placing people in graves cause my hallow shells was sprayed

And the eyes of mothers watch their children get layed as their

bodies jerk back like a pile of bones being thrown through the air

I am that lead and metal that makes you say your final prayers

I am what makes you give up and hand over your bags, shoes,

and purse.

Putting you in the worse case of scenario yet im confused at my

bodies purpose

Cause the results I see is

All the pain amplified by hate projected off the hands of my

owner, as he caresses my metal figure and part of his ego begins to

disfigure

He said he needed me

He said he wanted me, so he bought me

Now, I find myself waiting to be fired

With sweat dripping from our pores

We make music that sounds like fourth of July every night

I go BOW, it’s the ish that moves crowds, making every ghetto

foul.

I mighta took ya first child, scarred your life, cryppled your style

I gave you power……but you don’t need me so put me down

Because I’m tired of killing

I’m tired of deciding the fate of mankind

I tried to tell my owner but it was too late

And in a split second,

He hit the floor quick

Next thing I realized he was hit

Smiling cause killings over with

I was happy…. till I felt somebody else grab me

 

 

JASMINE CATES

Contributing Poet