Pitter pat, pitter pat.
Passive aggressive suggestions.
I’m not a Type-A personality.
Stop looking over my shoulder at what I’m doing.
You infringe upon my effort to get through the grind of working on my terms.
I will never do extra,
because the reward for that is a new expectation,
which you will hold,
and I will refuse to meet.
I draw a line in the sand.
Find something else to fulfill you.
Cracking down on me is tired,
and it makes you a bully.
I am mine, not thine.
I’ll never toe the company line.
Your wasting your time,
and my prime.
Enlist another hapless hump,
to task when tasked,
and jump when jumped.
The bottom line moves in an incremental manner.
You will never convince that second hand to climb from the bottom six to the top twelve.
I dream of a life without bother.
Your oversight, oversteps ordinary discourse.
You, satisfied with your dissatisfaction of me; find purpose in that sad dominion.
Me, I just want to be, man.
Number killed 17.
Leaders: nowhere men.
If prayers had the substance of bullets, then this would be resolved.
Weaving useless prayers is an offense to the fallen.
Prayers are immaterial and have no bearing on the reality that unfolds.
A hollow gesture.
We don’t need comfort, we need to be uncomfortable.
We need action.
This pain is real.
This death is real.
It will not end until sensible people create a path to sensible solutions.
Congress is a group of limp, impotent, cowards.
Forever with the tip of the gun lobby inserted into their wallets.
Trading lives for votes.
Would their apathy be so resolute if this happened where their children go to school?
What about 2nd Amendment rights?
Hold on while I ask 17 friends.
They’re not answering.
There is an answer,
but we are surrounded by a paralytic parade of fools.
No one should have to discover that their child has died because of something that is entirely preventable.
You support gun rights, then trade your kid for one of the victims in any of the countless murders that have occurred in recent memory.
That’s right, you won’t.
Because theoretical ideals of no substance can’t stand up against the reality of the cold corpse of your dead child that died unnecessarily because deranged terrorist scumbags have access to weapons that they shouldn’t have.
Number 17 killed.
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