THE GIRL WITH GUNS
ON HER CHEST
Stare at the girl with the guns on her chest.
Doesn't she look beautiful when she cries?
The rosy color that circles her lids shows the color that becomes her melancholy.
Dark circles under her eyes carry the thoughts that haunt
Look deep into her tearing eyes,
They sparkle with a beauty that can only be rivaled by pink quivering lips.
Watch in awe while she falls down.
Love her sadness for all it's beauty.
Hands can tell the story of one thousand words never spoken.
My hands were used for holding that of another, interlaced,
a mere spark of passion yet to come.
These hands have labored to write my thoughts and life.
A person with rough hands is no stranger to work.
A person with nails bloody and bitten is usually anxious
A soft manicured hand is not a construction worker.
My hands have held my nieces and nephews.
My fingers have been on the trigger of a gun
pointed at another human being.
They are bitten fingernails and rough palms.
They are tattooed with a story of war, regret, yet pride.
My knuckles read "Vet" to show the world the sacrifice
I made for you. To show you I would have died for you.
I want everyone to know.
I have broken rifles that are so much more than pictures to me.
They represent my guilt, my disenchantment for the army
and most of all that I wish to never have my hands on any trigger
or gun that could claim the life of another human being.