I am not white, but
my skin is light enough
that I can walk down
these suburban sidewalks
without fearing for my life.

my brother shares my blood,
but he doesn't share my privilege.
his skin is not light enough
for him to avoid prejudice.

growing up, I couldn't see
how we were any different.
to be honest, I still can't.
but now I know that
other people can.

we are apart by two years
and fourteen and a half inches,
and we share only one parent.
but even now, I can't understand
why that makes us so different.

the ironic part of it all is that
people are afraid of him, but
I'm the one with a criminal record.
my brother has never
seen the inside of a cell.

I remember this one time
when we were walking
and this man pulled his truck
over to the side of the road
to ask me if I needed help.
I looked at him and said,

"this is my brother.
if I needed help,
he would be helping me."

he stared at us in disgust
and he drove away
without another word.
I was afraid, but
my brother wasn't.

I couldn't understand
why he didn't react.
now I realize that
he was already used to it.

my brother and I
are adults now.
we've both moved away and
we don't live together.
we aren't so young anymore.
we aren't innocent anymore.

we're still best friends,
and I still can't understand
what makes us so different.
I still see him on the holidays.

I still love my brother
and he still protects me,
the same way he did
when we were kids.

but it hurts me
because I have realized
that even though I love him
more than anything,
I can't protect him.

every time the TV
shows another black man
shot in the streets
in broad daylight,
I shake with fear.

I call my brother
and I'm not religious but
I pray that he answers.
I can't calm down
until I hear his voice.

I can't convince myself
that he's at home safe
when I see so many young men
who don't ever make it home.

when we were kids,
we lost our older brother.
he drank too much and
got into a car one night
and we waited, but he never
pulled into our driveway.

we thought that he had
stayed at a friend's place,
or maybe he had forgotten
to charge his phone.

we never thought that
his car was flipped over
at the bottom of a hill.
we never thought that
our brother was
under a white sheet.
we never thought that
we wouldn't see him again.

I am so afraid that one day,
my phone will ring
and I will find out that
my brother was shot dead
because of his skin.

I am so afraid that one day,
I will lose another sibling and
there will be another funeral
and my life will have
another gap in it.

I am so afraid that my brother
will become yet another statistic.
I am so afraid that my brother
will be stolen from me.

I am afraid that one day,
when my brother has children,
they will grow up facing the
same hatred that has existed
for so many generations.

one day, my brother
might be the next face
shown on the news.

one day, he might have to teach
his children to move slowly
and to put their hands on
the dashboard of their cars.

one day, he might sit at home
and shake with fear
worrying that his child
will be stolen from him.

one day, I might have to look
his daughter or son in their eyes
and tell them that their daddy
isn't going to come home.

I don't know how
I would survive if
my brother or his children
are stolen from me.
I don't know if
I'd even want to survive.

so how is it possible
for you to steal the life
of my brother, or of a child,
and to then walk away
as if nothing happened?

how could you
destroy the lives
of an entire family
and a whole community,
and continue living your life
without any remorse?

how do such hateful people
exist in this world?

and when can I stop fighting
for this world to change?

when will I be able
to pause and take a deep breath?

when will my brother and I
look the same to you?

will we ever stop being afraid?