tell me.

Tell me,
does it burn the roof
of your bitter mouth,
those harsh,
cold, cold words you spout
when you look in those
dark brown oval eyes?
Tell me,
does it make you cringe
on the inside,
every time you tell that
little boy
that he
should, maybe, just go die?
Tell me,
how do you do it?
How do you get so damn
God-awful hateful
that you could dismiss
the plight of someone
you don’t. even. know.
based on false premises
and stereotypes?
Tell me,
how does it feel
to know that you could be
the person to pull
the trigger on the
hypothetical gun.
I hope you feel it,
someday, that burden.
I hope you know what
exactly what you’ve done.



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