I forget to breathe sometimes.
The air is there, I just can't seem to remember how to suck it into my lungs.
I forget how the world is a bad place sometimes,
but when I am standing there, air whistling in my throat, I remember.
I remember the second of air before he couldn't breathe,
the second before his hands raised,
the second before the first bullet hit.
In those breathless moments I can see so clearly what I am blind to.
And then I can breathe again,
but somewhere else,
another person can not.
I sit in school five days a week,
listening, to what I am supposed to learn.
I sit for an hour and a half,
and I learn about the
brave, white men who founded America.
I learn how America is great,
I learn how America is free,