I am not Trayvon Martin. I have, for my own well being, lied about my race. My sisters call me the lucky one, because I can pass for white. I want to live in a place where being lucky has nothing to do with the color of our skin.

I am not Trayvon Martin. I am a 22 year old upper class white female. I have red hair and a trust fund. I speed on the freeway, and have never been ticketed. When I walk on the street, men offer to drive me home. Police officers smile and wave. Everyday, people trust me with their children.

They do not know that 2 years ago, I daily transported heroin across state lines. I could be in prison, just like any other junkie. I am not Trayvon Martin, but was the person he was suspected of being.

So much of the coverage and trial has been about race, Trayvon’s race, and what that meant for him. But all [too] often those of us who get the benefits of racism can’t see. We can’t see it because the world just appears normal. Living a “normal" life means i don’t have to think about race.