The fight

As a beautiful brown queen I'm not naive enough to believe that you are not threaten by the power of my young gifted mind. You look at me and my brothers and see a race filled with so much beauty and smarts, you can't help but destroy the whole race. It's sad how some people of your culture don't see the beauty and intelligent  African-American standing in of you, instead they see monsters and animals. It's sad how the men with skin like mines are being destroyed so rapidly you would think they are on the blink of extinction. It's sad how an unarmed black man is shot over 50 times the day before he was suppose to marry his queen. Or how a young man in a hoodie with a bag of candy and a juice is such a threat he lose his life and for what price. I can't breath when I think about the man who lose his life over loose squares and for breaking up a fight. I just have to hold my hands up when I think about the man that lose his life over who was right. I cant help but hold my chest when I think about the man who lost life because his neighbor just knew he was right. Even though I have my own fight I can't help but be sad and sympathize with my brothers plight. Because at the end of the night when there is no light I can help but cry over my son and his fight.