A man asked me to help him get his life sentence commuted. He observed me, listened to me speak about certain issues and a few recent spoken words I’ve performed in front of outside guests and organizations within the clubs here. From that, he asked that favor, moved by my passion insight. What a compliment to my mission. He needed help writing a cover letter about his life story and prison experience to the governor. I’m helping him fight for another chance at life and he’s trusting me with that weight. How do I even measure that importance? Helping a man get back to his family. Often, we all heal by helping others heal…we all find our inner fight, by helping others fight. I was given a semblance of freedom helping a man get his back. No matter what you are trying to do, if it is for the right reasons you find purpose. We all have a purpose, be patient, because a process can’t be forced. Friday he meets his engaged, soon to be mother, daughter that was given up for adoption for the first time. She is in her mid-20’s and emotionally ready to connect with her father. A life at any point is worth to fighting for.
Inside
eh mhm!
I admit, I still hurt inside
I still struggle with finding the source of where most of my pain derives
I still try to act like I got it all figured out, my most proud lie
They confuse something being wrong if I’m silent because I’m viewed as the loud type
I’m a convict, proud of my conquest, and all I’ve accomplished
fought my past, but it was no contest
can’t plead no contest
because I was viewed guilty far before I had to accept my guilty conscience
A failed father, my kids have never truly felt my love
One has never felt my hug, and the other doesn’t remember too much
A failed boyfriend, I don’t think I can ever truly settle down
No longer boyish, I respect women to a whole new level now
And value conversation more than the thought of dressing them down
Explaining that to a woman, hmm, how’d that sound?
I’m no misogynist
but I’m a man, so the sad part is that it isn’t so obvious
I know I can learn more from one woman than a group of men
but what woman would want life with a man that rather not be surrounded by a group of men
so many stereotypes I’ve been grouped in
getting a job was just as hard before my felony- I know too much now…I only wish I knew then
Pro se Con-tints: Afloat
I still can’t swim, both of my sons’ mothers are teaching my sons to. My oldest, from what I hear, is great, and the youngest, is fearless…treading water was also a struggle for me. The irony of relaxing to stay afloat, while over exerting yourself sinks you faster…the things that still unsettle us and cause us to panic. I could never swim, call it fear…but even now, I thought I was treading pretty good, but I just realized I’ve been slowly plummeting and adapting to this subtle yet steady depth. Ignorant to my own drowning, am I conscious? Somehow convinced myself I can breath under water. At least my sons will stay afloat! Tranquility..
I once contemplated suicide
I once contemplated suicide
I truly tried
even a beast knows beauty lies
so many times
I became unglued inside
like who am I?
looked in the mirror like, “who the fuck are u to decide?”
look to the skies
no, I’m too disguised
do or die
everytime
I lewd my mind, I loose my mind, I lose my mind!
broken mirror! broken bottle! broken man! broke inside!
I lost my life! I lost my sons! I lost my fight!
I.
felt.
like.
dyinggggggg, no lie
I.
felt.
like.
givingggggg up, no lie
but now
I.
think.
I.
feel.
some. thinggggg
my numbness comes and goes
I.
have.
feelingssss?
do. you. feel. me?
please don’t hang up no more
life. kept. calling. for me. to. stayyyyy
maybe. some. one. loves. me. still?
I can’t compare my pain
so I just share my pain
promise you won’t run away
if. I. show. my. face
am I ugly
am I worth it
do you hear me?
echoes are too loud
let go? I’m. too. proud.
I’m not
a.
lone.
please hurt with me, or help me hurt no more..
–Speak up, I’m no longer ashamed to say I felt like giving up, I felt like I couldn’t outrun my mistakes. I felt like love could never love me. I felt forgiveness was unreal, beauty could never be any part of me, and no matter how loud or quiet I spoke, I could never be heard or understood. But then I found..that I wasn’t alone. Speak up, speak out, speak loud, and someone will hear you, we are more similar in our pain, fears and struggles. If you hide, then how can you be found and helped?..believe you are worth the help. I feel you. Don’t give up, because you have more to give, we just lose sight sometimes.
Pro se Con-tints: Justice Cold, Just Ice Cold
There are answers we don’t understand, so it’s encumbant we try to search for them, not just assume the void of a reason understand is good enough to not trek in order to concoct your own safe assumption. Learning doesn’t stop once you’ve grown from adolescence. I was sentenced by a judge that never looked me in the eye and his last words were “… because you are so smart I’m giving you this much time…” I’ll leave you to your own philosophy what he meant, and how a punishment with those words can never be given fairly as opposed to being so stupid or ignorant, would I have gotten more or less? And then before the parole board dismissed me, a man asked me what schools I went to and the education tests I took upon coming to prison. I maxed every subject, so how can someone so smart have this..and he turned the screen showing my misconduct history my first four years, not caring that I have been write up free this past year and more. So I guess he’s saying I should be smart enough to shut up and be docile? Or there’s a problem with me and not the system because intelligence mixed with unfavored behavior doesn’t make sense in his world, prison has no room for intellect! Hmm, riots, institutional racism, emotional trauma, gang violence, loneliness, prison life in general and racial divides, the threat of danger, and the loss of friends/family must play no role at all! Then he finishes his statement telling me that I am so smart that I can actually help people do their time, I have enough time left to really make a difference, but the fact that that’s been my mission which he never got to fully comprehend because I wasn’t heard nor allotted efficient time to speak because of their hectic schedule and if I’m being honest-what also seemed to be a lack of care, he went on to advise me of what I’ve taken on day in and day out but in his mind I can help my cons within the two years they rather I wait. Hypocrisy or ignorance? Had he not asked, I’d have been dismissed within 90 seconds..they didn’t even know I finished a program they favor and recommended, and I quote, “Oh!” (check mark). Oh! You gotta love it!
Pro se Con-tints: “One day” will come
What is it called when you have an appointment or meeting scheduled, and you bring all your reassuring references that draw your picture of experience and skills. You dress your best in order to impress. You pace in your mind about how you will handle yourself and the things you will say once you are called in awaiting a chance at a new venture and opportunity. Sitting and sitting, waiting, positive self talk, knowing you are capable, worthy, and ready. Believing you can handle anything thrown at you, even if you aren’t given the chance you are so hoping for…your reverie is interrupted as you are called into their office/conference room. It’s a few of them, not just one…but you prepared yourself for surprises. When you say so much and so little is heard, and then once it’s all said and done, they’ve looked at your resume, heard your story and believe they have all they needed to make an educated assertion of your value within their proprietorship…but the decision isn’t in your favor. You weren’t worth the financial risk, the timing wasn’t right, it’s not them-it’s you kinda thing…demeaning, maybe even embarrassed you felt, sitting in a chair waiting to be judged and then refused. Worth, value, hope desolated in one denial. You didn’t get it…comeback in a few years, maybe next time…to you, that was a job interview..to me, that was a freedom interview in front of a parole board. Drawing the line between ‘not enough’ and ‘too much’. That line is a question mark. When did years become so casual a unit of measuring “wait”? One day will come, and I will go. But what, who, how many and much will I lose by then?