A Statistic
A Statistic
Sometimes I feel tired of being in my own skin....feeling overwhelmed with sin that’s not my own...sorrow overbearing with thoughts of black teenagers that will never be grown...men, and woman dying as children...because they were shot by cops that are the same color of my skin....so now I am another statistic...reason being...is from what I’m seeing...my skin is seen with privilege...because I’m not black I lack the same disrespect from cops that Tyrone might get...and yet I feel tired of being in my own skin...feeling responsible for the many wrongful deaths....in all depths...from wanted to be a cop...wearing a badge of a cop...to holding the gun of a cop...when will it stop...the motto is “him or me”....them or we...shoot to kill...not disable...because you leave him or her able to come back the next day to bring more to the table....apprehending is now becoming a fable...or turned into one...it’s easier to do damage with a taser or take a life solving problems permanently with a gun...than it is to disable make unable to run...no lesson to learn from...I might be white as so that’s the color they call my skin...but I’m from the same east New York Brooklyn city line shopping neighborhood black kids grew up in...as I grow older I grow colder to what police officers are trained to do...”Shoot to kill...not disable to make unable...to come back the next day to bring more to the table”.....as much as I would refuse to be a bullet ballistic...I am just like everyone else who is the color of my skin A statistic...
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