Love vs. Ammo

Being your Mom has never been harder,
I can’t imagine it’s easier for your father.
There is no happiness like being your Mom and Dad, 
But you’re so little and fragile and the world is so bad.
I wish I could write you a poem full of hope,
Something you could hold dear when you need to cope.
But there’s rain on my window, and gunshots on the news,
Please, baby girl, don’t look up from your cartoons.
Is there a way to keep you innocent, with wool over your eyes?
Is there a way you won’t hear the other children’s cries?
The ones in school closets, fearing for their life?
Or the ones dead on the floor for putting up a fight?
But you can’t fight bullets, baby, and you can’t fight the blind,
Who still define freedom as being able to shoot up Columbine.
Can I arm you with knowledge? Can I arm you with a book?
So you don’t end up like the children of Sandy Hook?
Or do you need to learn to fight, to be a four-year-old cadet?
So you can graduate from a school like Virginia Tech?
How do I teach you kindness, strength and peace,
When people walk around with razors in their teeth?
How do I teach you love, courage and respect,
And then send you to school in a bullet-proof vest?
My job is to protect you and so is your government’s.
But they blame your mommy and all the other parent’s.
For not spanking you and placing second-place trophies on the shelves.
This, of course, when they aren’t blaming the victims themselves.
I want to keep you wrapped in purity in a small room underground.
Or in a bubble that can’t be penetrated, somewhere safe and sound.
But instead I must send you out into these scary times,
And maybe when you’re worried, I can sooth you with my rhymes.
I will arm you with all I can; with understanding and sensitivity.
And when I send you to school, my love, please make it back home to me.

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