Big Kids by Isaac Stephen Kemet
I don’t wanna die, I’m only five.
I’m afraid to say it, but I think it whenever I see big kids around.
Jamal and I were suppose to play at my house the day he got killed, but I couldn’t go outside cause some big kids were shooting and my mom heard a lot of cussing.
I wanna play, but I’m forced to learn fast how to run to my safe spot instead of my bed. I don’t wanna get killed sitting at the table while doing my A,B,C’s.
I don’t wanna go upstairs for anything cause I’m afraid of a stray bullet hitting me anywhere.
I’m not even safe sleeping on the living-room floor with my puppy cause the big kids throw cock-tails on any floor.
I don’t like big kids anymore, they don’t care about us or they would stop killing us.
I told my mom I didn’t want to go to Jamal’s funeral and I didn’t feel like praying for those big kids that killed him.
I got to take care of myself cause the big kids don’t honor my parents or care about my brother I love cause they won’t listen to anyone.
The police can only do so much and my pastor seems to talk more at funerals than around the corner where most of the big kids hang out.
I don’t know who to trust or who to believe in…
All I know right now is a revolver shoots six times, and if I hear more shots I’m thinking it’s a 30-popper out of control like the one that killed Jamal a few days ago.
I don’t wanna die, but I’m wondering if I’m ever gonna get big?
-Isaac Stephen Kemet
1101 Linden Lane
Fairbault, MN 55021