NRA

How irritated did you feel

When you heard an annoying ringtone going off

Inside the carriage you were in

During a 7 a.m. train ride?

Was it as despicable as the words you spit out

Whenever you feel within your rights to address

Girl’s shoulders,

And knees,

And thighs,

And label them as “distracting”?

Did that videogame talk make you sick?

How spoiled must they be, right?

It makes you ill to witness the way

All of them live their lives.

The way they conduct themselves,

And how they feel entitled to everything.

The way they talk,

The music they listen to.

Nothing’s how it was before, is it?

It’s somehow gotten worse.

Yet, nothing compares to how uncomfortable you feel

Around those you chose to call “the youth.”

Because neither one,

Nor a hundred complaints about them are

Good enough for you.

It makes sense to you, doesn’t it?

To discredit, and mock, and belittle those

Whose world you managed to mess up

As you let them grow up on their own.

And you thought the weight of your

Experience

Would last forever.

You thought respect and admiration

Would come to you by default;

Something you’d get as a retirement gift.

No one had shouted louder than you before,

For shouting was the only way you knew.

Shouting whenever you felt threatened

By my presence,

Or my people’s presence,

Or anyone else’s presence:

Anyone who looked remotely different from you.

But now you’ve finally met your match;

It is those annoying, distracting, spoiled,

Revolting, ignorant,

Good-for-nothing,

Mindless children.

No less.

When you told them to shut their ringtones up,

They did.

When you told them to cover up,

They did.

When you blamed videogames for they behavior,

They let you speak.

When you accuse them of being entitled,

How entitled does that make you?

When you said people were to blame,

They did not take it.

When you tried to cover it up,

They removed the blindfold.

When you shouted to plead the 2nd,

They shouted louder than you.

Does that frighten you?

Spilled blood stains the concrete;

Cries burst out from those scattered bullet shells.

“But, the 2nd! The 2nd!”

For them it’s the 18th!

It’s not just another police report;

It’s now the sound of those you despise,

They are the ones who decided to confront you.

It is said that people tend to fear the unknown.

Is it bravery you fear, then?

Are you afraid of courage?

Does justice frighten you?

Bullet wounds open like bleeding mouths;

They try to call your attention.

We all can hear them,

But can you listen?

They are relentless,

They are fearless.

They are more than you will ever be.

Your time is up.

They’ve realized this time is theirs.

And now, whenever you decide to

Criticize them

Mock them

Belittle them

We will remember how strong they stood.

We’ll remember

How their teary eyes shined with power;

We’ll remember

Flames of resilience burning down to ashes

Your protest signs;

We’ll remember

How quickly they realized that they are

Our present

Our future,

And our only hope.

Now is the right time for them to

Resurface from the pile of used ammunition you left behind,

And do what you are still afraid of doing.