To some members of the gangs at home

Sweet brown baby probably played in the streets the day before
Made her mom a mother's day card
Looked hopefully toward the summer
When school would be out and her days would belong to her
Probably knew to duck when bullets flew
Or maybe her mother kept her indoors most of the time
Like my mother did
Safe in the refuge of home
On walnut ave where I used to skip track practice
Around the corner where my cousins lived
Lil Qua'Daisha, ten years old asleep in her bed
Didn't wake up when the smoke covered her head
Mother passed out before she could save her love
The product of her womb
On mother's day, a mother lost her motherhood

Second time you burned a house, complete with children, to prove a point...
I am not talking to all of you, just the ones responsible. No one loves you more than I. I always give you the benefit of the doubt. I don't stereotype you. But what the fuck did she do to you?
Part of the reason why I didn't come home is because I feel helpless. When I told one of you that, all he said was I would be safe, no one would bother me. It's not about fear. It's the fact that I do not want to pick up another news paper and hear about another child who's face was blown halfway off by a stray bullet, or another execution, another father hit with a bat, another classmate murdered, another high school valedictorian who can't deliver his speech because there is a target on his head... I am running from the feeling of responsibility. I do not know what else to do yet. Thank you for bringing out my cowardice.