As my heart weeps for the unarmed man, a Black man who was shot 5 times in the back by a White police officer.
One a father to be, and the other a father of four.
How could this have escalated from a broken tail light?
I don’t want to believe that a police officer would do this, but my eyes, our eyes can not deceive us.
Where do we begin to unravel this form of violence?
Why shoot at him 8 times?
Why not shoot him in the legs?
How far back should I go to try to understand this?
Do I shrug this off as a generational effect of the enslavement of my people?
Or do I see this as a form of terror, a misguided, unaltered negative by product of capitalist patriarchy?
Or do I just see this as a common case of the bad apple?
And what do I make of the other police officer who was Black and his involvement?
This is not the country I have tried to love, to be in, to live in.
I feel both rage and mourning.
Just can’t catch my breath, cause I know when it is caught
it, my breath, will have to be caught again.
To know that such hatred and mistrust exists
To see a form of impulsive hatred realized, to witness its birth–on film.
Crying and between my tears, screaming at the same time.