3/30 for fifth graders who consider homicide when dealing with your own shit is just too much like enough

no one here was born with a manual
no instructions to guide us through
impressions given to us by the world around us
our village takes us at birth
place their hands around our mass
form us
maybe your village was preoccupied
with other things
with leave you on your own
let television and violent games grow you
maybe they should have paid more attention

when I was fifth grade
I was riding bike no helmet
hopscotch and double dutch
be home before the street lights come on
but be outside breathing air
feeling it on your skin
fall and fuck a Band-Aid
put some spit on it and shine
walk it off
I was too busy plotting out my next adventure
how my backyard was a paradise
others could earn entry
if they had the password
when bully was one
everyone knew its name
never looked it in the eye
gave it wide birth
and when the day came
and it called you by name
it would be the day
and at the end of the day
a bloody lip would heal
almost a relief because bully knew
there were other fish to fry
but never did I ever hear of guns
and rape
and premeditated murder
we were too busy kicking the can
and book mobilizing to our next adventure

what were you lacking?
who led you believe that the people
on this planet had to revere you?
what were you learning in that home,
that school of yours?
where is your village?
in my village
I raised three used to be fifth grader
who knew their worth came from within
and hard work
and keep your head up
and there may have been tears
hurt feelings
slaps to pride
but the hands that molded them
held comfort in a touch
support with a smile
or a pat on the back
they knew this world was not required
to love them or respect them
life is precious and time passes everyday
they were freeze tag
and mud pies
jump rope
and flag football
never knives
never guns
never rape
never premeditated murder
where is your village?
who and why didn't they love you
mold you
enough?