I have this
Weapon in my
Arsenal.
A .22 caliber
Walther pistol,
Black, sleek,
Potentially deadly, an
Unexpected gift
Given by someone
Who loves me, but
Does not always
Know me.
In the middle of the
Night after
Opening this gift
I woke up in a
Cold sweat;
Shivering from the
Weight of
Responsibility.
Now, I cannot bring
Myself to
Hold, or
Load, or
Fire, or even
Look at the
Damned thing.
Yet,
It takes up
Valuable
Space in my
Home.
Space that would be
Better served by
Books and
Poetry about
Peace, and
Love, and
Dragons, and
Rock and roll.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
I could not have this in my home. I could not resell it. I’d have to take it in and request that the police or someone destroy it. I have no objections to others owning guns, assuming they’re mentally stable, keep the gun and ammo locked up in different areas of their home, and aren’t keeping guns that are meant only for firing at humans. Hate away you haters, but that’s MY opinion. Too many innocents die from the misuse of guns. Too many suicides. Too many homicides. Too many accidental shootings. Too many instances of domestic violence. I might have to return that gift to the giver with all my thanks for thinking of my safety, and for their love for me.
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Janie, it’s driving me crazy. Locked away, key hidden, it is hell.
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