When I heard the news of the attack,

I was sitting in my world history class.

My phone hidden under my desk as the class took a test.

And just so everyone knows.

I wasn't cheating.

No, I had already finished the test.

No.

I was watching Andrea Gibson preform her tragedically beautiful poem Orlando.

I received the notification for a news article as Andrea spoke her words.

I learned that a high school in north Florida had received an attack.

People died!

And in that moment I broke down.

I thought of everyone I loved.

I thought of all of the innocence lost.

Of all the God damn people who didn't wake up.

Who will never wake up.

I thought of the parents whose kids will never come home on the bus again.

Who will never beg to go to a midnight concert with their best friend.

Who will never have a best friend.

Who will never fall in love, get married.

Who will never make a fucking mistake.

Who will never grow up to be a God damn human being.

A human.

Life taking leads to depression making.

I feel pain.

I feel pain.

I feel the bullet under my skin.

I feel my flesh being torn off.

I feel my skin.

I feel the hands on my neck checking my pulse.

I was in my chem class when they released the news of who died.

I felt my heart seize.

In some part of my head I am shouting.

I am screaming injustice.

I am screaming that I am alive.

I AM ALIVE.

I am alive.

I will always be alive.

This is war.

The first casualty of war is innocence.

No one is innocent.

No one walks away innocent.

Everyone walks away broken.

The families.

The friends.

Broken.

Kintsugi

Kintsugi means to repair with gold.

Showing the object was broken.

And that it was repaired, but not as it was before.

The families will heal.

They will be placed back together as delicately as possible.

But they will not be what they were.

I feel the pain.

I feel the shattered hearts.

I pray the world will change.

I hope that one day I can send my kids to school, in a supposedly free America.

And not be afraid that they will come home in a body bag.

We are not innocent.

Not anymore