I'm tired of counting.
Counting the shootings, counting their victims and their new silence. Counting the guns and their owners, counting every bullet shot and every one we're spared.
I’m tired of waiting.
Waiting for the day that it’s my turn to face the bullets. Waiting for the day that the drill is real. Waiting for the day that those with power change the system. Waiting for the day that there’s no longer shooters on the loose. Waiting for the day that lawmakers grow spines. Waiting for the day that it takes more than a day to gain the power to slaughter dozens.
I’m tired of them.
Of their ignorance and refusal to listen. Of their obsession with guns and killing things. Of their belief that they have a right to kill. Of them dismissing our voices because they’re not the ones dying, they’re always the ones killing.
I’m tired of our silent ones.
Those who claim they stand with us but then sit in the crowd. Those who don’t feel like using their voices or facing their consequences. Those who feel its too much effort to fight for their own lives. Those who have no excuse to stay silent, but are simply cowards.
I’m so tired. But I will fight.
I will fight until there’s no breath in this feeble body of mine. Fight until I have no voice nor body to fight with. Fight for the rights of those around me and those that will come after me. I will fight for their right to live and their right to learn. I will fight with the lash of my tongue and the colors of my art. If my fight is cut short by a bullet, I trust all of you to politicize my death before I hit the ground and then drop my body at the doors of the NRA.