marching
Bullet
I am a bullet.
Shot through the heart.
Shrapnel, debris, rubble.
I see your words
degrade my sisters.
Attack my brothers.
You call it safety.
I was a word
bricks, mortar, foundation.
Now crumbling from the weight
of your safety.
We hear the revolution.
It’s marching, chanting.
We can’t be silent.
Therefore…
you are a word
and I
am a bullet.
Susan Ward Trestrail, 2025
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