I raise my arms, and they become wings. White, black, and brown feathers flutter in the breeze. My eyes lose their white and brown color to become coal black. Hands up; the bullets fire. I will never fly.

I play war, fighting off imaginary enemies. The airsoft gun threatens no one. It is only and extension of my imagination. Childhood, safe until I feel the bullets pierce my skin without a single warning.

I run in fear for my life. Breath ragged, time’s jagged line red with life’s energy. My blood becomes street art.

In frustration I raise my voice. Tired of getting singled out. Tired of being black while walking with my hands in my pocket. The air will not come, this time I did not, could not run. Please, I can’t breathe. Day becomes night but that is nothing new to me and mine.

I look back in time. See the strange fruit with bitter juices dripping down the tree. The wind is not strong enough to move me. My family is not allowed to take me down just yet. Weird white sheets laugh and dance protected by their anonymity. The police don’t bother seeking justice for me.

With the modern age, you’d think we could be better. Cellphones, and judges robes, internet tv shows, twenty four hours new coverage that shades and paints A hundred different stories daily. Another dead man defamed in the court of public opinion. Another victim blamed. Another crime left unnamed. Another murderer not blamed. ******* ****, things really haven’t changed.

I walk home from the library, light skinned, these are not my sins. However, I can see the sorrow and the tragedy. I feel tears falling for all those families. Not my kin but then again when I search within they are my brothers and sisters.  A dark anguish clouds my senses. Seeing other human beings in pain causes me pain and it is worsened by the lack of compassion of my peers. I hear lies like he was a ****, or dodges like he had a criminal record. But he was human flesh like my flesh and now his death is a black hole of grief and rage.

Silence is a prison of reflection, iron bars of sorrow built upon more sorrow. I cannot speak clearly enough. I question what right I have to say these things. However, they are spoken from love, hope, and a desire to see us aspire to be better. I guess that is all the permission I need to say that any injustice bleeds us all of our dignity and humanity.