This is a poem from a young woman – Patience Carter – who was lucky enough to be one of those who didn’t die at the nightclub massacre. Yet she feels guilt because there are 49 other individuals who didn’t make it. Survivor’s guilt is a real thing and we must embrace Ms Carter and all others in her situation. It’s not their fault any of this happened and there’s no real answer of why she survived when others didn’t.
The guilt of feeling grateful to be alive is heavy.
Wanting to smile about surviving but not sure if the people around you are ready.
As the world mourns the victims killed and viciously slain,
I feel guilty about screaming about my legs and pain,
Because I could feel nothing like the other 49,
Who weren’t so lucky to feel this pain of mine.
I never thought in a million years that this could happen.
I never thought in a million years that my eyes could witness something so tragic.
Looking at the souls leaving the bodies of individuals.
Looking at the killer’s machine gun throughout my right peripheral.
Looking at the blood and debris covered on everyone’s faces.
Looking at the gunman’s feet under the stall as he paces.
The guilt of feeling lucky to be alive is heavy.
It’s like the weight of the ocean’s walls crushing uncontrolled by levies.
It’s like being drug through the grass with a shattered leg and thrown in the back of a Chevy.
It’s like being rushed to the hospital and told you’re going to make it, when you laid beside individuals whose lives were brutally taken.
The guilt of being alive is heavy.
© 2016 Patience Carter