I Want To Live In A World Where Our Bodies Are Not Battlegrounds And Our Children Aren’t Sacrifices For A Monster Called White Supremacy

I think back to my eighteen year old self
alone in a parking lot at midnight
standing in front of the police car
hands up
careful to not make sudden moves.
I stood aware
the line between life and death
was a flicker of movement from me.
A failure to provide evidence of innocence
of belonging, alive
or there or valuable.

This is the story where I lived.
The officer stayed in his vehicle
me, outside in the cold.
Still. Silent until spoken to. Serious. Hands up. Rigid.
Trying to embody my melanin in a way that would not get me murdered.
Tired of collecting stories to recount
for the world to see
a face behind the statics
of everyone who kept breathing
choked with fear
not wanting to be killed by the same forces that killed our ancestors.