My heart caught in my chest as I saw the headlines dance like wildfire across my social media feeds this morning -- another Black man shot and killed by police. Not this shit - again. His name is Alton Sterling.
There is power in calling things as they are. And all I see is a man who will not get to see his kids grow up. Who was removed by force from his family. A 15-year-old who needs his father more than ever. But the state of Louisiana handled that situation for him.
I'm tired of the platitudes. The memes. The tragedy spreading like wildfire across my social media newsfeeds. We post. We march. We pray. And this shit happens all over again. Wash, rinse and repeat. I mean.
What is the plan, y'all? And why do we even have to keep asking this question? Why do we have to keep asking police not to kill us with no retribution, no punishment, just a slap on the wrist. Black
people in this country are killed for sport -- and we stay losing.
Our souls are being hunted. And we cannot even rest from the grave. Inextricably, we will see images of Alton's murder splashed across social media and newscasts. I am not ready. I can't. Not yet. Mentally, I am not ready to go there. I can't watch. Do the details even matter though?
I'm not going to bother to repeat them here; look them up. All you need to know is that another Black man is dead. And I am ready to scream, cry and hug my children even tighter.