What is the end goal of incarceration? what does the public expect the inmates to be once they come back into society? The real answer, not the clean cut formal department of justice answer, because that’s just pie in the sky salesman speak. I mean what do expect a child to do if you send them into timeout for being bad, but offer no instruction nor attempt to figure out what it is within them that causes them to do those things. Do you expect change, without correcting the problem? Adults don’t need to be told the why’s but their why’s need to be understood in order to have any hopes of an improved mindframe. You don’t send a child to timeout and surround them with temptation and the things that will only serve to make them worse, you structure their punishments in order to condition a better response and behavioral change. So how do you expect an adult to change when they may come from dysfunction, and you enhance those dysfunctions by throwing them into the center of even more dysfunctional people with no real requisite or structure of betterment. How can you speak to a person that only understands and knows struggle and pain and the worst sides of life, like betrayals of love, abandonment of family, alienation of friends, no problem solving, venting with dependencies, drugs, murder, abuse of all sorts and with no real identity and a constantly changing environment that surrounds them and clouds them with neglect and a society that offers them no respect, honor or family that gangs offer yet casting them out showing only fear, denigration and disrespect with every effort to say they are lesser while providing unrealistic expectations of achievement as if it is mutually inclusive and possible regardless the conditions they developed within. How can you say you understand if you offer opinion first before an ear, if you compare your experience to mine as if you overcame despite it all. How can a person know how to forgive when all they know is blame and revenge, when society hides their truth and hands down their responsibility on everything and everyone else but themselves yet you say I should come out better and fully functioning, knowing better and cherishing what I had yet prison shows the bare naked truth of society. Separation, segregation, prejudice, racism, lies, denial, depravity, alienation, classism, judgement, unforgiving, violent, anger, fear, escapism, loneliness, abandonment, addiction need I go on, because my closet is doorless and yours is vaulted now all of a sudden since I’m in this obvious prison and you hide within your prison you act as if you can speak down to me, as if I owe you something, as if I’m so unrepairable and my sin is so much grander than yours while your precious freedom makes money off my misery, offering me false hope. The best kept secret is that I am constitutionally a legal slave and you expect me to come out without trauma and be grateful? I was raised s a state ward, with an imprisoned mother battling depression alienation addiction and a father killed by her hand while pregnant with me because of his drunken abusive episode which I never found out til damn near 18. How do you speak to that person, how do you get through to them when all you see them as and throw them in is shit? I speak to that type everyday, because I am in that shit with them, these same people that could’ve killed me not because they hate me but because hate is all they know and society tells them its their fault, so fuck it right?! When they call out and hear of a close death, a cheating girlfriend, maybe she left, or likes her power in the phone, family distant and friends are a matter of convenience but yet society says don’t come back broken because you know better, we gave you a chance to heal and find yourself even though everyone outside lives as strangers trapped within their own prisons. I’ve offered my voice to friends with heartbreaks, addiction issues, suicidal thoughts, loneliness, health struggles, relationship problems, in need of life advice and an ear because I m going through it too, so I know it, I identify, I feel them and I I’m that ear daily for the worst people society casted out, real killers and molesters. I have answers for everyone but myself and two sons that barely know my voice, their mothers holding onto past pains, my siblings growing through life on their own, and a mom transitioning from prison, but who talks to me, what do u tell me that I haven’t told the mirror already, I get more judgment than help, we all do..I heard it all so just in case you didn’t know what its like, this is a fraction of what I embrace willingly daily
Culture
A Circle Has No End or Beginning
A circle has no end or beginning, but it is ever revolving, and the more you travel, the more you will see what you first were blind too. So, at times I speak in circles, that way you will be able to revisit things you already were aware of, just maybe not conscious of, and you get a chance to see without blockers, so talking in circles isn’t as bad you they say
Parsing paradigms and piercing paradoxes are in someway my thought and writing style, I write perspective narratives and perspective verse poetry based from my wayward observations and experiences of Life and Imprisonment. I’ve come to see that those two experiences, while one is in freedom, and the other isn’t, both have more mirroring parallels and possibly aren’t so contrasting as they may seem. Just one population is more concentrated, and so the interactions of that population are more inflamed for lack of space and options-two things a civil society offers, but we adjust. Prison-the land of the Civilized Savages. It’s easier to question things when you add distance from the thing in question. Distance creates objectivity and room for thought.. so I think about “what if’s” a lot and the mortality of them, they speak to either a distant future or distant past, and mostly an impossibility
I believe one of the biggest “what if’s” are, what if you knew everyone’s truth, and they too, were privy of the real you? What if, everything you believed was exactly the contrar? Could you be brave enough to accept those new revelations, or would stubborness, fear, and the lack of idealism plague your growth? It takes questioning to learn more, but as we mature from our adolescent selves, ironically we question less, preffering comfort to re-construction. Somehow, the mere act of questioning is both brave and audacious, because of the way in which we cling to conventional norms and wisdoms. Conforming is the new tolerance, and individuality is the new prison, Welcome!
So here’s a question, can there be chaos without control, or control without chaos? Or simply, do they both feed off each other? We see life as if everything has an opposing force, instead of a complimentary one. Obviously, perception is reality. Along with the connotations attached to our complicated dubious and ambiguous langauge. Maybe control is chaotic, and chaos however, is a means of control. Maybe because the act of supplementing a control for chaos, creates conditioning. Yet, no control is constant, besides in the fact that it is just like life, therefore, constantly changing. We have frames, doctrines, laws, and paradigms that we use to identify and medicate the themes we come across in life, but those structures and foundations are constantly in a state of agitation, or change, as life evolves and we adapt. Therefore, control I believe, is chaotic, because we have to compliment chaos with order, it’s opposite, but does that mean that chaos is control, or does chaos merely beckon control? The latter would be obvious. Control is ever evolving and adapting, like lifes organisms and societies. In order to survive, control creates a norm, or certain conditions, so then life in itself is “Chaotic Control”-birthing a ceaseless cycle of conditioning
–
I tell her to stay
she try to go-
she try to stay
I try to leave-
like she is my tree
like she is my sleeve-
she try-on my heart
it is her size-
im wearing on her
and she wears me out-
the girls like a man
that show how he feel-
she see the girls
and see my appeal-
I try to split
banana won’t peel-
but she need a pill
because she feelin ill-
she keeping secrets
her secrets revealed-
when she get a drink
in to her gills-
there’s plenty of fish
but that ain’t the deal-
this is a pickle
but she can not dill-
what is the deal
she want me to kneel-
she try to feel
but she can not feel
so she play the field
now I’m in my feels
now I have a shield
still wondering if she’ll..
but she never will
–
do u love me, or u love me not?!
no really do u?
cuz my stomach in knots!
its just u promise a lot
then contradict with a thought
now my confidence at a loss
and u comprehend it as fault
u say its mine when we talk
like this shit all in my head?!
but all THAt I see is fog
I hear ur echoing heels
as they SLAP the side walk
I look up and ur lost
speaking my truth at a cost
what’s the point of a heart
if it only beats when its tossed
I wear it on my sleeves, maybe these sleeves should come off!
u say u love me don’t lie!
(gulp)Im drinking my pride
because I’m tryna hide
that I’m dying inside
fuck!
why should I cry?!
you just hate being alone!
u don’t know bout real love (hiccup)
ahhhh should give up
why do I even get up
stuck in my feels and all I feel is bitter
tasting the remnants of your lipstick glitter
the sweetest venom..
I secretly kiss your picture
and then I rip it
placing it in an envelope, reluctantly I send it
after I write a sentence
“only for your eyes…but I hope you dont get it”
–
she told me she love me
why won’t she cry for me
she told me she’ll never leave
why won’t she cry for me
she said she’d rather be nowhere but right here
why won’t she cry for me
she said there’s no one else like me
why won’t she cry for me
she said she has never felt like this before
why won’t she cry for me
she said she goes into a love portal when our lips collide
why won’t she cry for me
she said she feels so cold after we break away from our embrace
why won’t she cry for me
she said I’m not her first, but I am her first
why won’t she cry for me
she looks at me deep, with this question in her eyes
longing for some kind of answer
she always asks me how I feel
she wants to hear me say it
I say the exact same things she said
her look became distant
she found her answer
I didn’t notice
until she said goodbye
I reached for her, but it was too late, she slipped away
wanting things I could never give
looking for something I clearly couldn’t see
why can’t I cry for her…
I wish I could cry for her
Glass Prints
Who would’ve known as a grown man, I’d still be that lost boy fogging the glass with his breath?
Then placing his hand there, leaning back observing that moment of art, as a symbolic thought crosses his mind, wondering…
if he’ll be able to touch the world enough one day to where his print is left behind…
ha!
left behind…
somehow poignantly funny, because being left behind is another thought he felt so akin to-
as his wrist hovered adjacent to the horizontal window PANE
straight across he thought, mirroring the same structure that carved horizontal lines that once broke his resolve and enhanced his curiosity while biting into his wrist-
penetrating that thin line of shallowness he revered as his surface, which he clung so tight to-
because he felt no one could feel his PAIN..
no one but this window PANE
yes, the window did-
for it sees all and stays silent, transparent and non-judging-
the greatest attributes in a best friend
he wondered how could something be so quietly comforting and loyal, yet easily crack and shatter under pressure
showing vulnerability at the first signs of discomfort
innocently divulging a truth of some kind imparted by the force it became victim to-
that force, became measured by shards of glass looking back up at him
and somehow he felt the pain inflicted upon it
a traumatizing act, because when glass is broken, there’s some impossible feeling of guilt and empathy that takes over us
but is that sorrow for the glass, or the broken person he sees in it?
or maybe the ensuing eyes that peer questioningly, overwhelming his consciousness with the torment of perceived judgement
he stands shooken and found out, feeling almost naked so-to-speak
if only for a moment
those pervading voices breech and surround his senses, though it’s all in his mind
often times that man was I..
I, that broke that glass
that broke that one stable friendship and bond that accepted me blindly conditionless and willingly
within its shattered pieces, I saw a man of many different faces
don’t we all?
It’s crazy to think, but selfishly everything serves a purpose, and you know glass never let me down
sometimes it showed me raw truth and reflective bits of myself on the outside looking in,
or at least what I wanted to see
and other times, a distorted or prismed perspective of the world outside of my own unobstructed view-
often given me a sight and thought that I wasn’t able to conceive or digest prior to peering through the eye of that glass
after indulging my pallet and gullet in a foreplay with spirits-the fluidity of that temporary serum it bared within so purposefully, satiated my emptiness
again…everything serves a purpose
yes, glass came in many shapes, it molds to the needs of its environment like me
and it’s our environment we seek most to control or fall in line with,
and the environment of the glass I had in my possession was a control that sometimes gets the better of me
And often as I look through it, peeking through its crystal like specs-
I may not always see my prints, but I know they are there,
for I touched it with such a purpose,
and if only for that moment…at least in my own way, I touched the world,
yes, I touched the WORLD!
and within that connection, that touch, that purpose
something was left behind
my print
because I touched the world
maybe you’ll notice..
Never Asked
He never asked to be your reason
she never asked to be your outcry,
their bodies laying cold on the cement
their bodies sketched by the same outline,
xenophobia, bigotry
religious beliefs, hypocrisy
gender bias, topography beef
racism, tribalism, classism, and hidden hate we speak..tweet!
he was black and he said he can’t breath
he was black and he said don’t shoot me
she was white and she stood up for humankind
she was white and got ran over by her own kind
my religion never told me to hate you
I’m responsible for what I say and do
he went and shot up a church group
in court he was told “we forgive you”
black mayor wins gubernatorial
white counterpart said we shouldn’t ‘monkey’ this up… in a live news interview, a new fuse used, to spew, hate food in internet editorials
they never asked!
but silence is complicit because of America’s conflicted past
Imprisoned prism of a Realist
Realist
The term rings off real sure, but to me it is lacking. Wisdom is knowing that you don’t know enough or everything. One can always inform themselves with other insights and perceptual beliefs. To me a realist is stunted in knowledge and growth, a realist is a trap and/or a bail out word. For example, being a realist, or pragmatic, is simply thinking with all the information in front of you to make a safe yet narrow-minded opinion. Having a felony will follow me around all my life limiting my possibilities. True but not, that is the trapping side, the bail out side of being a realist is that it relieves the responsibility of embracing the metaphysical aspects of life, like love, faith, hope, imagination etc. Two hemispheres in our brain, left and right, you don’t use that left side of your brain when you are a realist, you see things as separate and distinguishable from one another in that they are opposites, one can’t exist at the same time of the other, because opposites contrast instead of compliment. Now there’s no room for paradox and possibility with right brain thinking. The left side is for creativity and abstract continuity, unity and likeness of all things, the right side is for pragmatic and the concrete disposition of things, the separation and opposites so to speak. If you see things as flat as ratios, percentages, facts, numbers and statistics, then naturally you will view people, possibility and chance as such. This type of thinking is so limiting within self and onto others. I become and amount to nothing more than a statistic after a downfall, with only a minute chance of over coming your objective opinion. Being a realist is a virtualistic compromisation and a perceptual scapegoat, why can’t a person view themselves and others beyond the pan of either this or that. No, indeed there is a middle, an in between route, a combining force that is manifested by belief. Eyes can betray us just as the heart and mind can, so seeing doesn’t have to be the end all be all for truly believing, because that isn’t believing, it is surficially or circumstantially knowing of something by its exterior, while neglecting its internal layers. Just think, if all felons decided to be realists, then there’d be no need for hope by changing self if we all conceded to this mass perception of impending doom for all opportunity, rebellion and anarchy would be a constant because what does an animal have to lose once its caged doors are open all the while knowing he will return to captivity soon enough? I was a realist, til I realized I was dying faster that way. Once I began to step back and notice the abstract beauties and metaphysical wonders of and in life, I began to have hope and slowly I began to come alive and started to live again. So I’m no realist, I’m not jaded, I may be taboo and tainted, but I am a hopeful optimistic romantic within my thinking, seeking symmetry and synchronicity with life, not apart from it. But what I wonder is how much more would I be able to accomplish if you thought this way too, because it used to be I, myself that limited my life, but now it could be you. Be a left sided, not lop-sided, thinker, even if you have right wing views, be idealistic and take the time to create your own beliefs, even if seeing things for what they appear to be seems so much more convenient. Take that time and use your mind and choose to see more. Being narrow-minded is a choice, being a separatist is inhumane, and being a realistic is cheap and easy and has no imprint of originality. Facts, I’m a black imprisoned father of two sons with a few violent felonies. In that line, read more than facts and a statistic, and see that there is a person with more depth than the sentence alludes to, but understand that it will take more effort understanding that as fact then accepting the short sentence in itself as truth and all there is to know. What’s a record if it’s broken? What’s statistic if it is defied? What is a ratio if the numbers flip? What is a percentage if it rises or decreases? What is a number if it changes? What is a fact if it is disproved? Make room for possibility, no matter how sensibly impossible it may seem, and see more even when your eyes can’t see it tangibly, at that moment, develop faith, because then you get to enjoy the ride of imagination and hope. We manifest our own destiny by our thought patterns. Be thoughtful and thought provoking, see things for what they appear and then imagine what more they could be, then see that to fruition. You may just find enough room to free me from your narrow sights, just as I have freed myself and others that I come across. Thinking you know it all is not thinking at all, so what more is life if you stop seeking, if you stop believing you have more to learn, if you refuse to see all reflective sides of a prism while only concentrating on the side that faces you? So today, can you start believing an inmate can be more than a number, and that he can conquest, accomplish and create unimpeded by apparent realism? Will only denied the person that ceased to try. We have to change the narratives and connotations, if not simply just recognizing them and their weight, on certain terms and words, and take on deeper meanings so we can establish a sense of self, seeking more in every meaning we reason with. Often we disparage those stuck in physical prisons, while still unaware nor able to free ourselves from our invisible circumstantial and internal prisons which keep us in captivity most of our whole lives. Realistically, there is more to reality than a realist can ever really see, experience is an infinite abundance of realty able to be cohabited once we realize how to perceive and live a real life without unnecessarily imposed limitations. Don’t try to confine that which you can’t comprehend into a small box so you can feel safe. Do more than address, assess in excess for access.
In the Eyes of the Beholder: Mea Culpa
I think what’s lost on people is that ‘guilty’ isn’t the only life changing judgement given to an incarcerated person. It’s not only the added judgement of those whom you don’t know that also is so difficult to tread through, but it is the judgement of those closest to you that really changes your life. Either for the better or for the worse, and often the worse sadly, because those are the opinions and affirmations we look to the most. And so, with that added space of unfamiliarity and judgement, incarceration becomes an added community and family of like struggle, adversity and pain. Because this side of the fence understands the hardships, the hidden scars, the denied emotions and the blocked traumas..simply because it’s all about survival. So we celebrate birthdays, holidays, familial reunions, new found or continued love and outdates! It’s tough to see those you form such a bond with leave, it’s weird to say as a man that you care about other men and have built deep storied intimate bonds, confiding in them your worst, while having those confidences relayed in this concrete jungle of testosterone and longing. I’m happy when I see those I grew to have a love and respect for leave, but it takes something out of you every time that you don’t know how to explain let alone refill. You don’t know how to talk about it, so we just go on, feeling that pang of loss and comfort leaving us once again. Just recently, a person left that has made such an intangible impact on my life in a short span of time and it’s hurt in a way I can’t describe. I have known of this person most of my bid but because of who they were, I never interacted with them until lately, which seemed almost a fateful encounter. I know it feels like I lost out on so much, and I only wonder how much more could I have gained from them had I not kept distance from them because of those prejudices, stereotypes and judgements that rule this side of the fence also. Effect, impact..are intangibles, they can’t be measured and come around boundlessly. Titles and identifications that create divides like gay, trans, different gangs, different colors, convicts etc shouldn’t be the decider of the core of a person and the possible influence they can have on you for the better. Let me speak in plain terms..I have lesbian aunts and cousins, a transgender brother and yet I question my manhood when it comes to speaking to those I’d title as such that aren’t family. I’ve always said titles don’t matter, it’s what’s beneath that shows the person, well someone of that ilk also challenged my hypocrisy and put my words to the test. Where am I going with this? I made a gay friend, no, I made a guy friend that even now I feel self conscious about but I hope to be his friend for years to come, because he not only taught me so much, but beneath it all he may be one of the greatest spirits I’ve ever met..save of course my best friend Katie! Nobody beating that, let’s get real folks! She brought the world YoungR.U.S.S. WayOfLife and Proseofacon! Hopefully I can continue earning his friendship ridding myself of my personal phobias, because he even kept his word once he got free, checked out my page and showed his support and he could be just focusing on freedom that he just acquired 72hrs prior. Me, being who I used to be holding one on one dialogues with him feeling like I had the eyes of the whole prison on me within the unit was maybe more mentally a struggle than any fight, war, riot, or hole stint i’ve experienced..that says a lot about shallow perceptions and how they rule us. I felt like I needed to come up with a reason if anyone ever asked, and he got it and respected it without taking offense, but in those moments I felt bad and I envied him, because I thought I had finally gained my freedom of self without care of opinion but I really hadn’t, but he does and THAT in itself was a lesson and so motivating empowering and revealing. A friend revered, hugged him one day and I was like I wish I could do that. I give it to some others comfortably, that same friend shared sentiments with me after his departure, I never knew they were also that platonically close, I was blind. I eventually shared a hug. Not all lessons come in words, most come in acts, and he embodied compassion, faith, understanding, respect and freedom of identity. I guess I still have awhile to go to find myself or to be comfortable with how I feel. The eyes of the world may see and judge me while in here and once out, because even some closest to me only see what they are lazy enough to see. In some eyes we will also be everything but who we are, but in our own eyes, we need to be confident in who we know that we have become and striving to be, no matter what people say or think, and the rest will take care of itself. I’m still bettering myself everyday, join me, I like to act as if I am ready to be free and have it all figured out but I keep finding things to work on, I’m just like you, an unfinished masterpiece. I can be a better father, friend, son, brother, and person, but im trending All The Way Up #facts Thank you Nikko!