Since when did melanin become a death sentence?
Whoever said a badge was more worthy of coming home than somebody’s child?
Who told Dixie it was okay to wear a Confederate flag dress, washed in African blood and sewn into smiles of young boys and girls trapped in hoods?
Who’s afraid that maybe one day they will become too dark or too threatening for their assailant’s taste?
Like their dreams that were dimmed by their peers who told them their skin will never be light enough to lighten their screams.
People have marched for equality so long that their footprints should be engraved into the concrete and stars are just the result of warning shots that pierced through heaven.
We live in a world where we can find the price of our souls on the tags of cheap clothes.
Where vanity is infused into our veins, race equity is sold separately and homage for one another is out of stock.
I just pray for that young boy on the block. I pray that his decaying bones are not used as a catalyst that raises the eyebrows of mothers, so that they raise their sons with the mentality that they can expect to be martyrs for simply being a HUMAN.
I pray that his blood isn’t left out on the concrete too long because eventually it’ll become the color of tar and he’ll become another story gone unseen, eventually stripped of his name and maybe placed in a movie scene.
In the words of Eric Garner “ I can’t breathe,” because the accomplishments of my ancestors has become a common joke and shoved down my throat.
White privilege has become an epidemic that ironically affected the Brown’s home.
Studies done on Mike Brown showed symptoms included, thrown up hands and a screech of “DON’T SHOOT!” It made Trayvon Martin fall to his knees and wail a great deal of pleads.
It’s funny, his life was so short lived that we can only identify him by Skittles, a hoodie and sweet tea.
Man I pray when the only days our hands have to be raised are when we are in praise and admiration for the most high or when we’re saying hello or goodbye.