This was a poem I wrote for my leadership program. This poem is in the perspective of the gun that shot and killed seven-year-old Aiyanna Stanley-Jones during a raid in her Detroit home while she slept. I am the lethal weapon that has divided my community I am the reason why my people are slowly diminishing I don't want to be at fault I don't want to be in the hands of the untrustworthy Every time someone decides to pull the trigger, I know that I have let my people down again The evidence is there: The bullet in her head Soaking her kinky curls in a wine red Blood staining her living room carpet Her mother's tears The one who holds me is at a loss for words All I can say is, “I'm sorry.”