If you would rather “repost” an article on why “Blue Lives Matter” than attempt to understand the pain that is slicing through the black community, then please unfriend me.

If you can call yourself my “friend,” have been to my house, eaten food from my refrigerator, praised my mother for her delicious cooking, slept in my bed, drooled on my pillows, used my shower, peed in my toilet and upon hearing about the recent tragic acts of police brutality in the U.S., continue to try to find a reason why those black men deserved to die instead of empathizing with the black community, please unfriend me.

If you can find yearbooks or photo albums or scrapbooks that contain pictures of us playing together, making memories together, loosing teeth together, eating dirt together, and yet you still refuse to admit that it is dangerous to be black in the U.S., please unfriend me.

If we have together traversed through the uncomfortable and awkward land that is middle school, braved crushes, disastrous fashion trends and uncomfortable dances, made memories that will forever cause us to cringe from our naivety, yet you’d rather slam the #BlackLivesMatter movement for the unfounded violence caused by those individuals who merely claim to be a part of the movement than learn about the origin of the movement itself, please unfriend me.

If we survived boarding school together, shared classes, cried over honors and AP exams, laughed during seated meals, wrought havoc during quiet hours on dorm, shared an advisor, celebrated achieving leadership positions together, conquered three seasons of sports each year, sung in choir together, survived the hectic and slightly uncomfortable week that is the “Choir Tour” together, cried on each others shoulders over boyfriends, best friends and family, and yet you would rather use the tragic deaths of the Dallas, Texas police officers as motive and validation for police brutality against people of color instead of reassure me that my life does, in fact, matter, please unfriend me.

If you have ever laughed at my jokes, called me funny, admired my “bluntness,” appreciated my honesty, listened to my embarrassing stories and reassured me that I’m not crazy when the story was over, invited me out to dinner, wished me a “Happy Birthday” or “Merry Christmas,” came to a lacrosse game and screamed “Congrats on winning ODACs” even though you and I both know I didn’t play, and yet you’d rather say, “What about black on black crime?” than empathize with the fact that the justice system does not aptly protect and value black lives, please unfriend me.

If you and I have tried to figure this “college” thing out together, lived on the same hall, suffered through hall drama, (caused hall drama), disliked the same people, battled through “Rush Week” together, chose the same sorority, can call yourself my “sister,” chose a different sorority but still made the effort to hangout with me and still you’d rather turn a blind eye to what’s happening to black people in America rather than admit hoodies, skittles, breathing, walking down the street, broken taillights, “routine” traffic stops, failure to signal, sleeping, shopping at Walmart, playing with toy guns and selling CDs aren’t even close to valid reasons to die, please unfriend me.

And by “unfriend me,” I don’t mean send me links to articles about how dangerous being a police officer is or about how black on black crime is alive and well in the U.S. I've seen enough of that. I don’t mean scroll past my article after reading it thinking that I’m just “another angry black person in the U.S.” I mean unfriend me on Facebook, unfollow me on Twitter, delete my Snapchat from your list, unfollow my Instagram, unfollow my Pinterest boards and delete my number. Because of all the things I, as a black person in the U.S., have to focus on (i.e. not sounding too "white" but black enough at the same time, not dressing too "white" but black enough at the same time, constantly explaining to deaf ears that black hairstyles aren’t always political statements but no, you still can't touch it, trying to survive at a PWI without losing myself, actively trying not to become another hashtag, etc.) the absolute last thing I want to hear is bigotry, prejudice and racism coming from those who call themselves my “friends.” I can’t listen anymore. I really can’t. I'll miss our memories, but I won't miss you.