The news broke out on my timeline that an eighteen year old black man
was killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri. They said he was a thief,
that he reached for the officer’s gun—
                                                           if perception shapes our realities and all
I have ever witnessed are the actions of bad cops and a shady justice system,
then I couldn't help but feel in my soul that they were lying—
                                                                                they said he was a monster.

And someone has to slay the monsters, right? Someone has to be the hero, right?
I saw the pictures-slight bruises on his face, two bullets in his head. I made the
of watching the video and it replays in my head every time I hear his name—
                                                         Seeing his lifeless body lay in the August sun was
a painful reminder of the disregard this country has for black bodies, and I thought that
I would have been desensitized to this by then but angry, hurt tears welled in my eyes—
                                                                              I felt extreme guilt that in forty-eight hours
I would be celebrating a new year of life as his just ended, watching that video, I felt
like a little piece of me was murdered and I became a murderer too.

Contrary to what was said, I didn't believe that he was a monster. I didn't know him
but living in this black body my whole life, I felt him. I didn't see a man robbing a store
for cigarillos—
                                                         I saw a boy my brother’s age, I saw a boy who could
be my brother, I saw a young man in his green graduation cap and robe with his whole life in front of him.

And if our perceptions shape our realities, it is hard to tell who is the monster and the hero
sometimes. We have all witnessed them lie, we have all witnessed on camera executions
with no convictions, no indication that anything will ever change—
                                                      Watching these videos of someone die eventually has to weigh on you right? We have all become victims and accomplices too;  we have witnessed  unarmed black boys and men become martyrs—
                                                                             become heroes to a movement that they
never asked to be a part of. And if history is ****** to repeat itself then someone has to be
the monster. Someone has to slay our heroes.