I’m a Black Man in America

Everyday, there’s one less of me …

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The red is for the blood we shed. The blue. That’s for our murderers.

After the shots, he lifted his empty hand one last time.

I remember sitting in the dark from the comfort of my suburban home, where I grew up loving the police across the street, and crying three summers ago. I was watching Fruitvale Station, the shooting of Oscar Grant. I was numb. I was a grown man crying.

They took her soon. They took her dad. They took her husband. They took his friend. They took his life.

That was during the time when Trayvon opened our eyes. I heard him take his life. He pursued him and shot him in cold blood as his friend listened through the phone. The next morning, we all listened through the internet. And it began.

Many would come, but only a few would reach our news feeds. Nonetheless, not too long after, we were watching our moms slammed to the concrete, jailed and murdered.

Today I watched steal the life of another father. Another brother. Another husband. Another provider. Another son. Another friend. Another one of me.

It’s not isolated. Our officers are trained to shoot first and justify postmortem… especially when the citizen is a minority of color.

Pray for the United States of America. In the next 365 days, 305 black Americans will be murdered by the officers who swore to serve and protect them, citizens of these United States.

Written by

Creating more winners in writing @Penname.me | Author @JavaForHumans | Created Smedian.com | Ex: Founder & Editor in Chief @MarkGrowth (acq.)

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