An open letter to myself:

Dear me,

After your uncle died I saw your lost fate in the system. I saw the unshed tears of the bullets placed in his chest. All the birthdays now have painful reminders of the last time you spoke. All the I’m proud of you and keep up the good work don’t have the same meaning it did when others say it. A part of you forgot who you were once he was died.

When you began to see black people be shot down, something sparked. You saw the lives of black bodies start to look familiar, every age getting closer to your brother, dad, mom, aunt and grandma. I remember that spark of wanting to fight but knowing your voice has never been enough.

You’ve never been good at being the outcast, somehow you always found a way to sarcastically wiggle your way out. Your untold cries is not a reason to look down on those who are trying just as hard as you in places where they aren’t want it. We all are defeated, but that’s not a reason to look in the eyes of others in laugh in their faces. You have seen pain and being unwanted, don’t stoop so low to do that to someone else.

As you begin your journey to adulthood and college remember there is always room to learn about yourself, the world, and life. Don’t forget your voice is important, your skin is important. Sometimes people will change your life embrace the change and don’t take their life for granted. You don’t have to be wanted to know you’re wanted.

Sincerely, Yourself.