Stacey's Platform 

                                     

                                                                                  Dysfunctional youth is a growing

                                                                                   problem in the United States. High

                                                                                    School Shootings was never thought

                                                                                   of as I was growing up only fights and

                                                                                    smoking. Now our kids have to go to

                                                                                    school scared for their lives because they

                                                                                    do not know when their friend is going to

                                                                                 turn around and they will be on their 'hit

                                                                               list'. America it is time for us to stand up

                                                                                  for our children and teach them there are

                                                                                    other ways to resolve their differences!!

                                                                                 

                               “Misty”

                                         My name is Misty

                                         I am but three,

                                           My eyes are swollen

                                          I cannot see,

                                             I must be stupid,

                                            I must be bad,

                                             What else could have made

                                              my daddy so mad?

                                               I wish I were better

                                               I wish I weren’t ugly,

                                               Then maybe my mommy

                                                 Would still want to hug me.

                                               I can’t speak at all

                                               I can’t do a wrong

                                                Or else I’m locked up

                                               All the day long.

                                             When I awake I’m all alone

                                              The house is dark

                                               My folks aren’t home

                                               When my mommy does come

                                                I’ll try and be nice,

                                                So maybe I’ll get just

                                               One whipping tonight.

                                                Don’t make a sound,

                                                I just heard a car

                                                My daddy is back

                                                From Charlie’s Bar.

                                               I hear him curse

                                                My name he calls

                                                I press myself

                                                Against the wall

                                                 I try and hide

                                                 From his evil eyes

                                                  I’m so afraid now

                                                   I’m starting to cry

                                                   He finds me weeping

                                                    He shouts ugly words,

                                                   He says its my fault

                                                    That he suffers at work.

                                                    He slaps me and hits me

                                                    And yells at me more,

                                                   I finally get free

                                                   And I run for the door.

                                                   He’s already locked it

                                                   And I start to bawl,

                                                  He takes me and throws me

                                                   Against the hard wall.

                                                   I fall to the floor

                                                    With my bones nearly broken.

                                                     And my daddy continues

                                                     With more bad words spoken.

                                                      “I’m sorry!”, I scream

                                                      But its now much too late

                                                     His face has been twisted

                                                      Into unimaginable hate

                                                       The hurt and the pain

                                                      Again and again

                                                       Oh please God, have mercy!

                                                      Oh please let it end!

                                                       And he finally stops

                                                       And heads for the door,

                                                    While I lay there motionless

                                                     Sprawled on the floor

                                                     My name is Misty

                                                      And I am but three,

                                                     Tonight my daddy,

                                                       Murdered me.

                                                                                Only life could be so simple,

                                                                             To be loved as every person should,

                                                                             To be liked every person should,

                                                                           To be safe like every person should.

                                                                                High school shootings,

                                                                               Kids dying,

                                                                              Kids injured,

                                                                                  Parents suffering.

                                                                                Why the agony,

                                                                               Why the ultimate loss,

                                                                             Why can’t we just love one another,

                                                                                 Why are we so evil.

                                                                               Love happens in mysterious ways,

                                                                                When we are not looking,

                                                                         We can distinguish between love and hate,

                                                                         So why do we result in killing our kind?

                                 Children are Worth Saving

                                                                              Remember the Innocent

                                                                                      In honor of the wounded, and lost families of

                                                                                     Littleton  Colorado April 20, 1999