I’m not going to lie, life has hardened me.
I thought healing came with forgetting, but how can the vivid picture of seeing your own flesh and blood lying dead on the pavement floor be forgotten? How just is justice when pigs can gather around and separate us from him with a yellow piece of plastic caution? Then at the same time eat at the crime scene having a damn picnic as if to have no respect for the pain we all were going to face from then on. Don’t bother asking if I like cops, I much more than just dislike them. I don’t respect them. Fast forward to a year later, having heard the shots I ran out the apartment complex to a car pulling up aiming a gun at my face, looking at him dead in the eyes. If it weren’t for that retractable door between us who knows what my fate would have been. The cops question the homie while he’s on the floor bleeding.
“Where the fuck is the ambulance!” “He’s in shock how the fuck is he going to answer all those questions!” I yell, as she tells me to back up or she will have me detained.
Paying no attention to his wounds already deeming him a dead man. Trying to take justice into our own hands and not knowing how to heal… lead to more pain and losing the only person I could call my brother a few months later. Pointed fingers left me feeling guilty myself, I should have stopped him from leaving, why didn’t I? The stabbing feeling in my heart to know now I am alone. How can one heal when you live in a constant reminder of yesterdays?
How can I be soft and delicate in a world that’s so hard?