I want a way to remember them all,

each person who died just for being themself.

I could paint every name on my bedroom wall,

engrave each face on my wooden bookshelf.

I don't care if that sounds extreme.

My dream that night was just too bright;

oblivion couldn't stitch the seam.

People everywhere, silver guns caught in the light,

tears in my eyes, fear on my breath,

choking sobs, silent eyes, invisible doors,

blood all around, screaming death.

Just a nightmare, they said, nothing more.

Still, this thought strikes my heart with fear,

that somehow, I should have helped them.

Lesbian, gay, transgender, queer,

nevertheless, each life a gem.

It's hard not to linger on the past,

but doing so frays the rope.

Beautiful lives that didn't last

can poison remaining strength and hope.

So take this message and shout it loud:

this tragedy does not define you as wrong.

To all my special friends, I'm so very proud.

Keep on fighting, because YOU ARE STRONG.