I am afraid
Your black skin. My skin. Our skin is one skin. 
A skin that say Bullseye.
I am innocent.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I am waiting for someone to notice that we are dead.
Unseen victims to a crime that suggest we are the perpetrators.
Oh right! We wear a bullseye as skin.
We fit into a numbered category- based on test scores and prison ids.
I think you were meant to sell drugs, be a hustler.
To claim that number or to die at the hands of someone wearing a bullseye.
I think I’m supposed to be a single mother who raises a man just like you. Or die at the hands of someone wearing a bullseye or raped by someone pulling the trigger.
But that’s not how it happened, no.
We were walking and the trigger was pulled.
We are people! Not targets!
Matter of fact, shoot.
I dare you.
Isn’t this what you want?
For us to be mad?
To be fueled with rage and anger?
You want us to give you a reason to shoot.
Make us look guilty?
You can.
Because regardless there was going to be a bang.

Lexus Davis ’20
Contributing Writer