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I’ve been shot by Tyquan Morton

I’ve been shot…
by a man I’ve never met.
He put his pistol to my chest
Bringing back flashes of blue and red lights
I’ve seen before
as I passed out on the concrete floor,
trying to look passed his shades
to get a glimpse of his soul
but the sole of his shoe
was forced into my holy temple.

He wrapped his injustice,
around my wrists,
his hate around my neck,
and stripped my identity
from my back pocket.
You see he’s never met me before
but he’s seen my face
countless times on the TV screen
as he drives by my house waiting to see
if I would reach for the stereotype
he’s placed in front of me.

He’s seen my nappy-headed hair
on front of the magazines
he’s seen my brown-eyes
downsized by hate crimes and white privilege.
I’m forced to compromise.

You see, we’ve known each other for quite sometime
but this time I cried as I laid
In a pool of my black blood and black pride.

Momma warned me
this day might come.
“Keep your hands on the wheel, son.”
“Keep calm and breathe, son”
“Keep your attitude in check, son”
Momma, I did everything you said to do,
“Officer, I can’t breathe!”
“Officer, my hands are up!”
“Officer, I have a family to feed!”
but he shot me…
My body naturally resisted
this expected occurrence of black existence.

It is now 12:35 am, July 5th, 2016.
I have finally become
an official victim of a global genocide.
This nation will continue to divide
until you find the meaning in my life and death.

I’ve been shot
by a man I’ve never met,
yet I finally figured out
what it means to be
Black in America.