JUST LIKE MY BROTHER

He walked just like my brother.

Tall and big, slightly bent,
with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

BANG.

He walked just like my brother.

‘Death of an unarmed black man...'
the headlines scream blood.

He looked just like my brother.
His face kind and yet marked by sadness,
placed there from years of trying to make it.

BANG.

He looked just like my brother.

‘That looks like a bad dude too, probably on something...'
the reporter mocks.

He struggled, just like my brother.
He tried his best, tried to better himself,
tried to make up for years lost.

Lost to the destiny of the Black man...
He loved his family and fell short at times,

He prayed and worked to be a better man.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Just like my brother.

Was he a perfect man, innocent on all accords?
I don’t know.
I know my brother isn’t.
I know no one is.

Did he deserve to die?
You be the judge. And be judged by the same measure.

WAKE UP AMERICA.
You are killing your children.

He walked like my brother,
looked like my brother,
struggled, like my brother.

He could’ve been my brother, my father, my uncle, my son.

He WAS someone’s brother, someone’s father, uncle and son.

BANG.

Wake up America.

You are killing your children.

-Jess Mally
(written in the wake of Alton Sterling’s murder, in memory of every Black man and woman killed unjustly by US law enforcement)