And I’m nervous leaving my home
I jump at loud noises
And avoid the sound of raised voices.
I lie in bed
Contemplating my choices
The percent chance of dying,
Like they tell you the likelihood of dying when flying
Or like rainfall:
There is a forty percent chance of being shot
In a drive by while leaving your own home
And that’s a good day.
And if you go out
And you make it
And you’re walking in public places
In broad daylight,
Someone asks you for a lighter,
But he’s not looking for a lighter.
He’s a bored fighter
And he hits you
Then his friends do
And they swarm you,
Hit and kick you.
And you wonder what did you do?
But it doesn’t matter.
They were bored
And you were at the right place
At the right time,
Just bored kids, bad kids, mad kids.
It’s without explanation,
And they attack without hesitation.
We cannot quantify or define their action
Even against the force’s inaction.
I lack understanding,
And there’s no relief in not knowing.
I’m left senseless without ‘why.’