It started with Trayvon Martin. The 17-year-old gunned down by George Zimmerman in 2012. It was the first time I heard of someone killing a black boy for, pretty much being black. It was confusing and scary for me. I listened to the 911 call, I read the autopsy report, I read so many laws and statutes. When George Zimmerman was found not guilty, it made scared to wear hoodies for a while.

It continued with Eric Garner. The 43-year-old man put into a chokehold by an NYPD officer and died. Hearing that man yell out for help over and over again shook me to my core. Watching that video of a dead man's limp body seemed wrong, but not wrong enough to indict anyone apparently.

Then there was Michael Brown. The 18-year-old shot six times in the back by a police officer eight days after graduating from high school. This made me upset, this is where I took action. I joined protests, I because somewhat of an activist on social media, I made sure everyone knew the story of Michael Brown. When Darren Wilson wasn't indicted either, it made me wonder if my black life mattered.

Then there was Tamir Rice. The 12-year-old shot and killed within two minutes of a 911 call due a toy gun. This was the very first time that maybe, just maybe the officers in this situation were in the right. But classifying a 12-year-old boy as a man isn't right no matter the situation.

Then there was Sandra Bland. The 28-year-old woman who was "found dead" in her Texas jail cell. We all saw that mugshot. We saw how glazed over her eyes were, we saw the shadow behind her head, we saw how her skin pulled in the wrong direction, we saw that dead woman plastered on our phone, computer, and television screens. What actually happened to Sandra Bland? No one really knows, but it definitely wasn't suicide.

Now here we are at Alton Sterling and Philando Castile . The 37-year-old man shot by police for selling CDs at point blank range and the 32-year-old man shot during a traffic stop in front of his girlfriend and 4-year-old daughter. All day on July 6, I watched two men die over and over again.

In the last few years, it feels as if every day I wake up and see a new hashtag with someone's name. And with over 500 people killed my police since the beginning of the year, the feeling probably isn't too far off. The people I listed above, along with all the other people who have gotten lost in the sea of names I mourn deeply for.

These people who have been lost to police violence we're brothers and sisters, daughters and sons, mothers and fathers, but above all they were people. And considering that I, myself, am black, this just as easily could've been my brothers and sisters, or my mother and father.

Time and time again we see black people and other POC victims of police violence. We are told that it was our fault somehow, that we should've been "more" of this or "less" of that. But there is nothing we can do to be more white, less black or less brown. We should not have to go through hoops as POC to prove to police we do not deserve to be killed.

Now with the death of the police officers in Dallas, tensions have escalated. In no way were the killing of those police officers justified or okay, but hopefully, it opens the eyes of the other side so they understand what we in the black community have been going through for so long.

No one deserves to be killed senselessly and until there is a major call to action the violence will not stop. Our country is broken, the system is broken, and the only people who can fix it is us.

It's not going to be easy, it's not going to be simple. But until then, please stop killing us. Please.