His name is Daunte Wright. He was 20 years old.

All I can think about are the screams of his mother. The screams of his girlfriend. The screams of his family. The type of scream, the type of pain, the type of agony no living person should ever experience.
/1

Those primal screams echoing from
Black bodies for centuries is all I think about these days. I find myself tossing and turning my way to sleep, and then jolting awake before my alarm all in a panic. Preparing for another name. /2

Another hashtag. Another post, article, video, pleading for Black lives. Screaming for Black lives.
/3

At times, I'm numb because my heart, my spirit, my soul is desperately trying to keep me from being completely debilitated. But I feel like a sitting duck. Waiting for it to be someone I know. Waiting for it to be me. Waiting for those screams to fall out of my body. /4

I don't know what to do anymore. I'm tired of crying. Tired of feeling helpless. But I won't stop. I will not stop fighting for my people. For the mothers, fathers, siblings, best friends, loved ones of these Black lives that we continue to lose senselessly. /5

Daunte your life matters. It still matters. It will always matter. /6

To Black people, however you process is valid. Be gentle with yourself. /7

White people, your Black colleagues/friends/partners may smile, may be polite, may perform business as usual. That's how many of us do. How many of us cope. But be conscious. Be sensitive. /8

Be aware that we are reckoning with being murdered in the street by ppl sworn to protect us, while in the middle of a trial where a court is actually debating if a person who murdered a Black man on camera should have to answer for his violent disregard of Black life. /9

"A lot" doesn't even begin to describe what we're experiencing. /10