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What Is
Wrong With Us?
By David G.
What is
wrong with us? Why do we always sabotage ourselves by coming
back to jail
over and
over again? How come every time I look in the newspaper or ask
around, I find out another young person gets enslaved to the
system and will never come home, never make anything of himself,
or do anything positive. What is wrong with us? Don't we know
the only way to get out of this game is prison or death? And if
so, why do we keep playing Russian roulette with our freedom?
You see I'm no new mind to the streets. Basically I've been
there and done that. I've been in and out of the system for
felonies since I was thirteen. I've almost lost every man I have
ever respected to the system. I've almost been killed three
times in the past year. I've known cats personally who get out
of jail and go back faithfully. This leaves me with the
question, what is wrong with us?
A Long Poem
By William
Who is this
young boy
living on
the streets.
He is
lonely,
and he has
nothing to eat.
He is
uneducated, not wise, and
he makes bad
decisions.
He has
nowhere to go
and no one
to ask for help.
He lives his
life without a care in his mind.
Hate,
this is what
he thinks,
this is what
he shows,
this is what
he knows.
What will he
do?
No one knows
but himself.
He wants to
overcome the pain,
but he
thinks what for,
no one cares
for him.
He doesn't
know that people want to help,
want to show
him the way.
All he knows
is that he has been denied,
ashamed, and
disrespected in his mind.
He does not
know how to ask for help.
Why is he so
stubborn?
Why doesn't
he just ask for help?
Why?
Why?
Why?
He is lost.
He is confused.
He is
stressed.
He wonders
if he will ever find anyone to help him
through the
dark alley and all the obstacles.
He just
wants to find his way out.
Who is this
little boy?
This little
boy is me.
Dear Dad,
By
Anthony
I am going
to start this letter off by saying
I want you
to know I don't respect anything you do.
I'm supposed
to be your son,
and you
don't know anything about me.
I just
thought I would let you know how much this pisses me off.
You are the
man
who helped
my mom put me on this planet
and you
didn't give a darn enough
to watch who
you created grow up to be.
So now I
want to ask you some questions.
Why weren't
you there for my mom when she was giving birth to me?
Why weren't
you there for my mom when she needed help raising me?
Why weren't
you there for me when I needed you the most?
Why weren't
you there for me when I was getting in trouble?
Why did you
put your hands on my mother when I was younger?
Why didn't
you ever sit down in the morning to eat
Fruit Loops
or Captain Crunch with me?
Why weren't
you there for me when I needed a father figure in my life?
Why weren't
you there for my mom
when she
cried at night because of all the stress
I put her
through when she needed to control me?
Why did you
never give me or show me any kind of love?
Why every
year does somebody have to tell you when my birthday is?
So now can
you tell who I am.
You do not
really know me.
So now I am
going to end this letter by saying
you are a
coward
for not
being a father to me.
You
disrespected my mother.
You were not
there for me.
Thanks for
nothing.
Sincerely,
Your son,
Anthony
I Am Not A
Monster
By David G.
When you
look into my eyes,
what do you
feel?
When you
listen to me speak,
what do you
hear?
When I am in
your sight,
what do you
see?
When you
deliberately examine my scent,
what do you
smell?
Tell me
when you
feel, smell, listen, or look at me,
do you think
a monster is in your presence?
No!!
You cannot
think of me as a monster
because I am
not a monster.
I am not a
monster!
I am not a
monster!
I am a human
being,
a brilliant
human being at that.
I know that
a lot of people look at me and my situation
and feel
that I am cold hearted,
but if you
actually take the time to speak with me
and ask me
questions about what I am going to do when I get out,
you would be
surprised at my answers.
You see,
I know I
came to a point in my life that could negatively affect my whole
life,
but I refuse
to let this problem become the Achilles heel in my life.
I am a human
being with a good mind.
I most
certainly am not a monster!
What Do I
Want?
By Chaunte
What do I
want?
I really
don't know if you ask me.
But on thing
is for sure,
I want
freedom,
freedom from
the white man's cell, from jail,
from a bed
that makes my head feel like
I'm lying on
rocks in the desert.
What do I
want?
I just don't
understand.
Do you?
Life feels
so cruel and destructive
to a point I
never know where it's going
or where I
want it to take me,
like a bus
ride that just won't stop
and never
knows it's destination.
Do I want to
keep selling drugs or hold a weapon
to get money
the fast way?
NO!
But I'm sure
getting tired
of having to
struggle and feel excruciating pain of being broke.
I don't
really know where my life is going
or how soon
God is going to bring it to an end
because how
I feel.
I know I
want a new life.
That Trap
Isn't Anything
By Julio
My father
dropped me some trap today.
Does this
mean he loves me?
Who knows.
I do know he
is trying.
I appreciate
that.
I do know he
hasn't forgotten about me.
I appreciate
that.
I do know he
wasn't there when I needed him the most.
I don't
appreciate that.
I do know I
don't see him much.
He stopped
coming to see me,
but the trap
is still there.
Where was he
when I needed him?
He was in
jail,
and he was
selling drugs.
The money,
the trap, isn't anything.
I would have
appreciated him more
if he would
have been there to guide me.
His trap
wasn't anything
compared to
the love I needed.
Arrest
By Donkavius
When I was
first arrested,
I was thrown
in the back of the cop car.
Less than
five minutes later
five cop
cars pulled up.
They formed
a circle
around the
car I was in.
The cops
talked,
and then got
into their vehicles.
When I was
arrested,
I could see
my front door,
my mom's
car, and my bedroom light that was on.
It was
around 9:00 p.m.
My life
changed at that minute.
I was no
longer a free young man.
Dream
By
Gregory
I dreamt
about being a baseball player.
The position
didn't matter.
When I was
at Industry,
I pitched,
played first, and played second.
I have
played baseball since I was small.
I always had
a baseball bat,
and I hit
rocks and bottles.
My mother
bought me a ball.
I went
around the neighborhood getting a team.
I wanted to
be a baseball player.
I grew up
trying to be like my family,
trying to be
ghetto.
This is not
really me.
I am a nice
person who does not disrespect anyone.
I wanted to
be life my family.
I always
skipped school,
skipped
class.
I went to
school and never paid attention in class.
I fell
asleep.
I went
through nine grades.
One teacher
cared.
One teacher
did not give up on me.
This was my
sixth and seventh grade math teacher, Ms. Murphy.
Ms. Murphy
let me come in after school every day
to work on
assignments.
When I was
locked up at Industry,
she came and
tutored me.
She didn't
give up
Nobody
listened to me when I was little.
This is why
when I got older
I don't read
in front of people.
Someone
might laugh.
People said
I wasn't smart.
All the
teachers except Ms. Murphy said I wasn't smart.
I teacher is
supposed to wake a student up in class.
Teachers
never woke me up.
They let me
sleep.
I knew
teachers really did not care about me.
This was
when I dropped out.
Am I
By William
Am I a child
of a mother,
a brother of
a brother?
Am I a young
man
who one day
will grow strong and wise
and show the
society
that thinks
I will grow up to be nothing
but a thug,
a gangster, and an uneducated young man?
Is this who
I am?
Am I a
criminal, a thief, a drug dealer?
Am I more
that what people see on the outside?
Am I smarter
than what I show people
in everyday
life?
Am I the man
who everyone wants
me to be?
Am I
anything?
Who am I?
What Is Jail
Daddy?
By David M.
Hey son, I
don't know how to explain it.
How do I
tell you why I'm not around?
Well this
place I am in is not a place I ever want to come back to.
This place
is jail.
This is a
place where there are a lot of monsters.
I want you
to know it's not your fault I am in here.
You are not
the reason.
I'm coming
back to you.
This place I
am in is like a cage.
Where I
sleep is like the cage mami puts the doggy in.
I don't want
you to see me in here.
I want you
to come see me though.
Don't worry
my son you can't turn me off just like Sponge Bob.
I am coming
back to you.
A Note
From MCJ
By Shamel
I am a young
Black man who is locked up
for things I
did in my past,
for things I
am not happy about.
I know I can
do better than this.
I belong
home with my family.
My baby's
mother is five months pregnant
and is going
crazy
because of
the things I am doing to hurt myself
and the
people around me.
I want to
have a second chance at life
to do all of
the things I always dreamed about being in life.
I want to be
the person my little brother can look up to,
the person
my mother and my grandmother and my aunts
saw when I
was just a baby.
But now I
sit in Monroe County Jail
and think
about what should have been,
think about
where do I belong.
A place
where they say I belong
is this
place where people are locked up like in a zoo.
They say
I belong
locked up with three hots and a cot.
They say I
am nothing but a black boy
who deserves
to be locked up for something he did.
They take me
away from my family
and
everything I have to live for.
Where do I
belong?
I know a
young man who had a dream,
but his
dreams never came true.
He sits up
at night
and cries
and asks God
why his
dreams never come true.
He was
always told
that if he
told anyone what he wished for
it would
never come true.
So night
after night
he goes back
to the same spot
and asks the
man above
when will
his dreams come true.
To this day
his dreams
never came true.
This
young
man
is
me.
Where Can I
Fit In?
By William
In this
world, is there someplace
where I can
fit in?
I hope there
is a place I can fit.
Tupac thinks
'Thug Mansion' is in heaven,
and the
world will never be a place for young Black men.
As for me,
there has
never yet been a place for me in this world.
Everything I
ever did
either got
me in trouble
or in places
I did not want to be.
I will never
let up though.
There is
still another way
that I have
not given much thought to,
education.
This is my
last and only hope: to find a place where I can fit.
Many people
have different ideas
as to where
they fit in this world.
Me, on the
other hand,
I do not
have a place where I fit.
I don't
think I will ever stop
until I find
where I fit in this world.
Suicidal
Mind
By David G.
As I lie on
this thin, stiff mat late at night
can't help
but ask God why I am here.
Why am I not
dead.
Are You even
real?
And if so,
are You even listening to me.
Lord, I
can't stand this place I was put in for time to come.
No Lord, not
jail, I mean this world.
Lord, why do
I always feel confined to the back of my mind,
always
catching myself in deep thought
about dying
in excruciating pain of a thousand deaths
or my spirit
hovering over this place I call Hell on earth with billions of
other souls.
Lord, only
You know my fate and only You know my mind.
Tell me
Lord, why do I feel this way.
Where should
I go?
What should
I do?
Right now
Lord I feel like dying.
Where Will I
Be?
By Chaunte
Where will I
be?
It's 2008
but where am I?
I'm in jail,
but where will my life take me
where will
it go?
Where will I
be when I get out?
Will I be
back on the same block
with drugs
in my pocket
or holding a
weapon to stay safe?
Or will I
try to change my life around
and provide
for my family and kids
and maybe
start college
and maybe
find a nice job that gives good pay?
Or will I be
a wild buck
waiting to
be shot by a hunter?
If I do
change my life around,
where will I
be?
Will people
look at me the same
or feel the
same way about me,
or will they
look at my whole presentation differently?
How about in
2015,
Will I be
dead or will I be alive
with a nice,
big house and a good family
that I can
take care of?
Or will I be
dead by that time
from rotting
out like spoiled milk
from sitting
on a counter in some white man's prison?
In my mind
I'd like to get a trade
and keep my
mind on school,
and stay
free like a pelican flying over the Atlantic ocean
and feel the
wind going through my wings as they flap.
Where will I
be
Speak Out
Loud
By William
The voice I
hide,
the pride I
never show,
the hurt,
the pain I afflict on others,
I never
wanted to do what I saw happen to others,
but it stuck
to me like glue.
People cry,
people die,
people are
not perfect.
We hide the
truth,
the words
that we need to say.
Speak out
loud.
Never hide
from something you have the freedom to say.
It's not a
crime.
Speak your
hearts.
Speak your
pain.
Speak your
shame.
When you
speak you can turn
your words
into a song,
or maybe
a simple
poem.
No matter
what you do you, always speak out loud.
A Passion
For Words
By David G.
At times I
feel myself in deep depression
over viewing
my life
and the main
events that brought me here.
Sometimes
deep
meditation doesn't help much,
so I read
to expand
the literary lines inside of my mind.
I love
learning new words.
I feel
educated
when I can
acknowledge, study, and then comprehend a new word.
Words are my
keys to wisdom,
they open my
heart,
and help me
to explore my own mind.
When I learn
new words I feel power,
power that
escalades into hope,
hope that
gives me meaning,
meaning that
says maybe I can do something in life,
maybe, just
maybe I can overcome the system
despite all
the despair and all of the negative talk I have heard in my life
and someday
turn my tragedy into a testimony.
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