That Could Have Been Me

Six years ago when I went to work, I walked down the same path he did.

I went to the same 7-11 for snacks.

I wore a turquoise colored hoodie almost every day.

I’m Black.

That could have been me.

Would they have blamed me for being killed?

Would they use pictures and narratives to defame my character?

Would the verdict have been the same?

I can’t help but wonder.

That could have been me.

Would people dress up as me for Halloween?

Wearing the same colored hoodie?

Using instead a bag of skittles and an Arizona tea, but a bag of Cracked Pepper chips and a Tropicana Fruit Punch?

I could have been a costume.

That could have been me.

Would I be the topic of conversations on race?

Would my death have started a movement?

Would my name be mentioned with Sandra Bland, Oscar Grant, and Tamir Rice?

I could have been a hashtag.

That could have been me.

But instead…

Last year I purchased my first new car.

Last year I quit my job to pursue my dreams.

Last year I signed a contract for my first paid screenwriting job.

Six years ago, this could have been taken away from me. Like he was.

That could have been me.

He should still be here.

He should be graduating college.

He should be recognizing his dreams come true.

He could be writing this poem about me.

This could have been him.

For him, I’ll make my dreams reality. The dreams he could not.

For him, I’ll fight for the justice he deserves. That we all deserve.

For him, I will strive for change. That we are not stereotyped to our literal deaths.

For him, I will live.

So someday, this will never be one of us again.