As the country screams for justice and tears are wrung from bleeding hearts, one truth remains.
Trayvon died. You killed him. He died because you killed him.
Many tongues and even more minds have more than two cents to share about your motive. About the canker sores that eat at the cores of the United States of America.
Conversations and talks,
Tweets and walks,
Protest, cry outs
One-liners and shouts
Someone feels the pain of a lost child.
You killed a child, Mr. Zimmerman,
No one knows that better than you because the only other person who could is now dead.
You were there when Trayvon died.
Mr. Zimmerman, it must be something difficult you’re going to have to deal with. You were with him in his last moments.
Did you speak to him?
Did you yell out the last words he heard on earth?
You were there when Trayvon died.
Mr. Zimmerman, you’ll probably be plagued for a while, fingers accusing you of the despicable, friends backing you up for whatever reason and guilt may sting for years but the truth still is,
You were there when Trayvon died.
Regardless of the President,
Regardless of the crayon the good Lord chose when He decided to color in the skin of the young man He created, there is always the truth. The truth is you were there when Trayvon died.
Mr. Zimmerman, my mother taught me a lot growing up. How to be a lady, to tell the truth and boy, did I learn some of those lessons the hard way. I say this today not to cause you any grief but, because I want to talk to you and if I could, this is what I’d say.
You see, I’ve always been a curious child. I’d always wanted to know why and how; the purpose and reasons behinds things. My father says, “Knowledge is power” it must be.
Now, you were there when Trayvon died.
Mr. Zimmerman, it may be the Bible I read or it may be because my older sister suffered a lot for some of the mischief I got into when we were growing up. Taking the punishment for the trouble I instigated as I silently watched, swimming in the unfamiliar waters of the amalgamation of guilt and exoneration. As I grew older I sorted out my senses and awoke to the realization that I had to own up to my mistakes. I haven’t thanked my sister yet for her sacrificial love. My sweet sweet sister, but never you mind about that, her letter is right behind yours.
Now, before I wander too far from my point, you were there when Trayvon died. You know why he did. You know if it was worth it. If the threat he posed to your life was demanded his own. I don’t think I could call you racist. I barely know the meaning of the word myself. I didn’t grow up knowing it or feeling it and to be honest, I am not the first to recognize it. I am pretty daft when it comes to the issue of racism. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the thought of skin meaning so much more to people than the fact that it holds a human inside it. However, you were there when Trayvon died.
Mr. Zimmerman, if you know what you did was because Trayvon was suspiciously black, please do something for yourself. Tell America there is hope. Tell America you made a mistake. Tell America you know why Trayvon died and a young boy’s life shouldn’t end because of the skin God put him in. Tell America that you don’t want to be a part of a mentality so sad that it places children as dangerous because they “look” it. Tell Trayvon’s family and friends that their loved one shouldn’t have died because he was born who he was.
Mr. Zimmerman, choose not to live the rest of your life knowing you killed a child and got away with it because that kind of freedom is expensive. I wonder if it’s worth the injustice people like Trayvon are facing.
I don’t know you. I don’t think I will ever meet you. Sadly, I don’t think you’d care enough to read my letter. I didn’t know Trayvon either, but his story saddens me.
Now sir, you owe me no explanations. Maybe you really needed to stand your ground against the teenager and what that must have done to your sense of manhood in this world we live in when you realized those Skittles weren’t explosive.
If you killed him because he was of a certain color, say, “I shouldn’t have thought he was dangerous but I did because of the color of his skin.”
Say, “I live in a world that needs to be better and Trayvon’s death tells me that.”
Say, “I was wrong.”
Say, “I was there when Trayvon died and he didn’t have to.”
I mean no disrespect, when I say I feel bad for you because you say the teenage boy posed such a threat for some reason other than the color of his skin that he had to die for it.
You’re going to have to face your fears of young children sauntering around at night. I hope no one I love ever has to face a horror like that. I do hope life gets better for you but in all honesty, Trayvon’s never will.
Maybe you wouldn’t wish your present life on him, but to quote Arya Stark, I would. You’re alive.
You were there when Trayvon died.
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