his prison had no walls,
no guards, no bars.
no warden ever surveyed
the non-existent cells.
yet he cowered there in
a corner of society’s
design; backed up against
the lies he’d been sold.
afraid to venture out
unarmed. emasculated
by manufactured fears
he sprayed his own poison.
propaganda kept him warm,
that and the butt of his
forty-five. he could spew
the paranoia in his sleep.
in his prison he dwells
shackled and hobbled
hoping today he might
justify pulling a trigger.
I am beyond weary of being told after every mass shooting in our country that it’s not the right time to address common sense gun regulation. We’ve waited long enough. It’s time. It’s been time for decades.
Praying for Eyebrowz 