Entry #2092

Drugs Over Love

I grew up with my stepmom and dad until around fifth grade. At home, I was often beaten and mistreated by my father. He had intense anger issues and would take it out on me and my stepmom. My stepmom tried to protect me as best as she could, but she usually got hurt too. Eventually, they divorced, and I moved in with my mom. 

I still visited my father and stayed at his apartment. One day, in 5th grade, I was staying at his house. I was in my room and he came in and he SA’d me. I still have flashbacks from that time and remember being the most scared of him I’ve ever been. I never told anyone because he said he wouldn’t love me—and all I wanted as a child was his love.

As I got older, I tried to make plans to see him, but it happened less and less. He stopped showing up and made excuse after excuse. Eventually, I gave up trying.

Living with my mom, I became distant and angry. I didn’t trust my stepdad, even though he’s been there my whole life and treats me far better than my dad ever did. My mom and I argued a lot, and our relationship suffered. Eventually, I started cheering and fell in love with it—it was the happiest I had been in a long time.

Once I started high school, everything changed. My friend passed away, and that’s when things went overboard. My mom and I fought more, and I started smoking and drinking. I left home to party and eventually got kicked out. I began taking pills and partying even more. A few months later, my mom wanted me to come home, but I was too deep into partying and drugs, so I refused.

I started taking any drug that was handed to me because I just wanted to feel something, anything, better than how I was feeling. Addiction runs in my family, and I used to say I would never get addicted. I started hanging out with older people in their twenties who did almost every type of drug. I kept trading one addiction for another, and eventually, I ended up in juvenile hall—first time, second, third, fourth, and now here for the fifth time. There’s a big chance I’m getting six months.

I want to stop this cycle. I want to stop being so angry. I want to change. I’m hurting so many people with what I’m doing. People are scared of me, and I can’t stop with the drugs. I chose drugs over love.

Entry #2093

Mother

Mother! Or as I call her, Monster… not for the fact she packed us all up and moved me away from everything I knew and loved. In her eyes, it’s safer here than home… She tore me down and took the last of my hope, promising me she’d stop touching dope… But I choke as I open her door. I find her with two junkies. As they make excuses, my mother says she’s just trying to unwind.

In my heart, I don’t want to fight, but my brain tells me to shout as my mother slams the door to get high… I walk downstairs and outside, sit on the porch, and wonder if this is forever my life. F@#k, I’d rather die. She is my light, my reason for living, the only thing that gives me oxygen and the ability to feel. Yet I resent her for taking my innocence at a young age.

She’s not the monster in my closet or under my bed. She’s stuck like an illness inside my head. And although I resent her… I carry her with me.

Entry #2094

People Change

Every day, I went on just trying to get by and not off myself. I fell into my bad habits and started acting out and causing problems. It all started when my stepdad went to jail. I fell into the street rules and life—smoking, drinking, hanging out late. When my dad came back, I never got the guidance I needed. He was never out for long. To this day, he’s still locked up. We’re both getting out around the same time.

The first drugs I sold I got from people who were supposed to teach me differently, but it’s hard to teach different when you don’t know any better. I’ve done a lot of bad things—from getting addicted to coke to almost letting my cousin die from an overdose. Sometimes you freeze up and don’t know what to do, but stealing cars gave me a sense that I was invincible. I started robbing people who were close to me. I thought things got better when I met a girl I cared about a lot, but things went downhill because I never got taught how to be a proper man. I was still bad with drinking and using drugs like coke or meth. I was never a good brother either. The only thing people learned from me was my mistakes.

I’ve been in and out of juvie since I was fourteen. I landed myself here for putting my hands on someone I love a lot. I’m going to be eighteen soon. This time around, I’m glad I landed here. If I didn’t, I don’t think I would have learned anything. I’ve learned more from juvie than I have anywhere else. I’m learning things the right way now. I’m proud of the person I’m becoming. I’m going to graduate and come out to the world a different person than I was. I never thought this would ever happen, but people here care, and I want to make my mom proud.

Entry #2095

Rough Times Are Like Seasons

I was dealing with depression. A lot of things made me want to give up—being taken away from my family and being in the system. It was hard seeing my family use non-stop, watching my nephews get taken because some of my sisters didn’t have their stuff together. At the age of five, I was living in a house with rats, no PG&E, and a bed on the floor. I saw my sisters getting beat by their boyfriends and knew I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

At age six, I was still living in that house, hoping things would get better. I watched my mom work so hard, and I saw my grandma cry because she felt like she wasn’t doing enough. As I got older, the depression—this wave of sadness—kept growing. I thought things were never going to get better. I saw other kids with stuff I didn’t have. I started hanging around older people and eventually got jumped into a gang.

But things started to change. My sister went to rehab. She stayed there for six or seven months and came out clean. She stopped using, enrolled in college, and got her kids back. Now she’s still in school, working to become a nurse. My grandma never gave up. Neither did my sister. And I think seeing them push through the hard times helped me pull through my depression too. I stopped feeling that sadness because I knew—if they didn’t give up through rough times, then neither will I.

I’m currently waiting to get out, and I want to study to be a counselor or something close to it. "Rough times are like seasons. They don’t last forever."

Entry # 2096

Dear Mom

I know you haven't been there for me, but I forgive you for everything—even though I'm incarcerated. I still think about you every day and wish you would've done better for me and Julius. Even though you were struggling with substance abuse, we still cared about you so much. I hated seeing you struggle. It was so heartbreaking to see your physical appearance change because of drugs.

I know you can do better because I've seen it myself, and so has our whole family: your mom, my grandma, all your sisters, my aunts. We all believe you can do better. I personally hope and know you can be normal again. I hated seeing you in the state you were in. It killed me inside not knowing why this was happening. I really thought it was my fault—even though I did nothing to deserve the things you said when you would call or text me while high and angry at stuff that didn't have to do with me. You made me feel like I didn’t deserve a loving mother or a mother who cared about me.

I love you and forgive you for everything you did, and I hope that when you get out, you do better—not just for me, but for everyone.

Sincerely,
Your son

Entry # 2097

Locked Up In The Cell Before I Was Born

Addiction, trauma, eye color, mental health, depression, anxiety, and even an incarcerated mindset can be passed on to you whether you like it or not. I learned this lesson time and time again throughout my life. People say you’re only a product of your environment, but I would disagree with that statement. In the United States, adults who were adopted are 1.87 times more likely to have a lifetime substance use disorder (SUD) than non-adopted individuals. An older U.S. study found that 4.5% of adopted individuals had drug abuse problems, compared to 2.9% of the general population. In addition, nearly five million kids in America have had a parent who is or has been incarcerated, which makes that child six to eight times more likely to end up incarcerated themselves. That is why I do think being locked up can run in the family.

The reason I disagree with the statement, “you’re only a product of your environment,” is because I’m living proof. I was adopted and taken away from my biological family. I grew up never really knowing anything about them unless it was an update about them going back into or coming out of prison. I was raised in a family that never had drug addictions or a criminal record. They always told me to do things the legal way in life, so I would never have to go down the same path my biological parents did.

All my life, I did the complete opposite of what they told me. I was always getting into fights or some sort of trouble. I started using drugs early, and I probably would have ended up in juvenile hall a lot sooner if I wasn’t so good at staying out of sight. I was always running the streets due to being kicked out of my house so much. I never had a clear reason or answer for why I was making the decisions I was, but what was clear is that something in me felt so right when I was doing wrong.

Once I got a taste for any drug, I was hooked. It didn’t matter what it was as long as it was stronger than the drug I was doing before. Like I said, I never really had a problem with the law because I’m really good at lying or acting like I want to change, when in reality I was far from wanting a new and better life—but that “act” didn’t last long. I’m now in juvenile hall due to the consequences of my own actions. I can’t blame everything on my biological parents, but it is clear that the chance of being hooked on drugs and incarcerated is much higher if that’s the background you came from. It’s also your direction to break the cycle or continue letting it ruin yourself and your future, so the choice is yours.

Entry #2098

Ephemeral

Everywhere I am, I’m surrounded by a challenge — whether I’m incarcerated or at home on the outs. My problem is myself. My problem is whether I can keep getting up. There’s a weight I carry now after facing my problems and accepting everyone else’s. I stopped looking for ways to blame someone. I started looking at the people around me, including the ones I surrounded myself with. I got disgusted and sad. What I thought “having fun” was looked dumb and gross. I irritated myself just by sitting in the same space as those people — including myself. Smoking, getting irritated about shit that didn’t matter.

I realized how immature I, and everyone I hung with, looked, sounded, and acted — like a bunch of kids trying to act tough — as if people cared once you started to grow the **** up. I stopped letting things and people ruin the two steps I’ve taken. I stopped letting words control how I react. I’m not gonna lie — there are times I want to either blow up or shut down and start drinking my life away.

But when I just stop and pause…
So much pain. There are no words for anyone to understand.

Pain has been used too much to mean nothing to anyone anymore, but I wish it would mean something.

To give comfort,
you had to have a comfortable view of the world.

I lost two of my baby sisters to the system.
That’s when my view of this world started to get far from comfortable.

Once you lose your view,
it’s almost impossible to get it back.

My view has changed too much now for me to have only one.

You can stand alone
and feel like you’re standing with many.

You can stand with many
and feel like you’re standing alone.

Entry # 2099

Runs In The Family

Locked up runs in the family. I hear things like “cell bound times.” I know all too well some people say I’m a monster for the things I’ve done. Shoot, sometimes I do too. From grandpas I’ve never met because of a sentence that ends with an L, to a dad that can’t love because of something called institutionalized. Two years down and I haven’t even started my time. They expect me to feel and not be empty. What can I say? Locked up runs in the family.

My momma would always say, “Boy, you gonna go famous one day.” I guess she didn’t anticipate it was going to be the crime of the day. Sometimes I still think about how my life would be, given a different hand of cards. I guess I’ll be alright, though, ridden of times I felt empty. But hey—locked up runs in the family.

Entry # 2100

The Way It Went Down

To my girl and my brother

Family moving away,
Parents being locked up,
Having to stay away,
Having to rehabilitate,
Being locked up,
Seeing the bigger picture,
Setting a bad example.

I’m not proud of my behaviors
Or my actions.
You know what I did
And the things I said,
The people I hung around with,
And the mistakes I made.

But you care.
You want me to succeed.

As you know, you know my charge,
My sacrifice I had to make.
Seeing only part of the problem,
Blaming my mistakes,
Not changing my current ways,
Or the path that I am on,
Or what I want to do with my life.

Seeing only a small percent of the problem
And not fixing anything to solve it.
You feel me, youngblood,
My closest friend of mine.
You know my struggles,
My pain and sacrifice,
The way I grew up—
You were there,
With me under the tree at the skate park,
Thinking we had no problems in the world,
While we sat in the heat during the fun summers we had together.

Being locked up, I now realize something:
We can no longer hang because of my stupidity.
My own actions led to my incarceration,
And I just want to apologize for everything I put you through over the years, my friend.

More problems along the way,
But let me tell you, my brother: that is life.
That is my problem for the next 11½ months,
Being in a place I want to get out of,
A place that doesn’t feel familiar,
A place I want to turn around and never come back to.

Brother, I know you’re out there somewhere—blood, brother, forever friends,
Forever brothers. Can’t wait to see you again.

And to my girl, damn, I will miss you.
You were everything to me,
But I had to move away, and now I can’t see you ever again.
But I love you, my babe boo.
Hope you’re doing good, wherever you’re at.

And to my brother, you’re always in my heart.
Alive and well, or gone, I will miss you.
Waking next to my bed,
Laying your head next to mine.

And sadly, your older brother is doing his time,
Paying it back right, keeping it real,
Peeling back the broken pieces,
Seeing the clear jar.

Don’t worry, brother.
You’ll always be in my heart.
To be honest, you are my hope,
My guidance through struggles.
But we got through the pain,
Put it down the drain,
Even when it made me go insane.

Those kids were so lame,
They were cruel and mean.
There is nothing I haven’t seen,
Nothing more I have to do.

I can always agree with you,
‘Cause you’re my brother,
You’re always by my side.

And I say sorry to my girl.
It was nice to be by your side,
And there is nothing left to hide.

There are little spirits hiding throughout,
I am no longer filled with doubt.

Entry #2101

Worse Than The Outs

All the deaths, money struggles, no place to stay, family problems, mental health issues… I feel like none of it compares to being in here. Why? Because in here, none of it matters—nobody cares. The other juveniles are dealing with the same shit. The guards are just doing their jobs. So it’s just you and your thoughts. You don’t have anybody—unless you’re lucky enough to have people who answer your calls or come visit. And if they don’t, you’re stuck.

You feel like you’re just here. And you can’t leave. Every piece of freedom is gone. You can’t use the toilet, shower, sleep, or even wipe your ass in private. You can’t talk to who you want. They try to make it as terrible as possible, and you have to remember—they have all the authority. They get to go home.

When you don’t have a release date, you really have to work to keep yourself going. You need motivation not to think this is the end of the world—like it’ll never end. Unless you’re like me. They said I’d be fine because I didn’t even do anything in the first place. But one time can keep it going. And when you’re like me—someone who can’t tell anyone what’s really going on—you just have to take the punishment and get through it.

People talk to you crazy. Guards say things and treat you a certain way without even knowing your charge or your story—just because they can. Who’s going to stop them? They go home, forget about it, and do whatever they want—until their next shift.

While I sit in my cell, trying not to lose it—over and over again.

Entry #2102

Free Me

I’ve been locked up a total of five times. I was probably about 12 or 13 the first time, and I always told myself I wouldn’t come back. I’ve got four more months left on my stay this time.

The shitty thing about being locked up is I seem to lose people who are close to me. Since being locked up this time, I lost someone I thought would be a part of my life forever. This time hit different. It’s more difficult. It’s tough being incarcerated and not being able to talk to someone face-to-face.

On the other hand, being locked up gives me time to work on myself. I’ve been able to realize that the stuff I was doing on the outs wasn’t working. I was headed down a bad path. One good thing about juvie is I’ve been able to catch up on my credits — I wasn’t even going to school on the outs.

I always told myself it wasn’t bad being in juvie. But being in here with some kids I don’t get along with makes the time go slow. I know I’m the problem sometimes, but it gets annoying when the drama keeps going for days. Especially when I’m trying to work on myself and better my life.

Entry #2103

My Sweet Brown-Eyed Boy

My sweet, honey-brown-eyed boy, skin tanned from the sun. I could go on for hours, even days, because I love my sweet brown-eyed boy. We'd talk forever or just lie in silence—it didn’t really matter. To us, we had the whole world just within arm’s reach. Yeah, we both struggled with our own mental health issues, yet we found peace in each other. I’ve known him since I was eight, but when I looked into his trauma-filled eyes at age eleven, I wondered if I had ever truly understood his rage.

Fast forward: he’s fifteen, we’re still deeply soul-tied, connected with love, passionately—but I started to notice his beautiful brown eyes change. He got “those eyes”—the ready-to-give-up eyes, the no-hope-in-this-world eyes… lost eyes. We’d talk for hours until the sun broke the sky, discussing our suicidal tendencies, agreeing we would never wish our home life or problems on anyone else. Embarrassed as we were, we carried that pain with pride… coming from broken places, starving, stealing, but still finding comfort in each other, hiding our pain away.

Eventually, my handsome brown-eyed boy couldn’t manage. His heart was broken and damaged. The last words I said to him—selfish and cold, putting pride over love—now haunt me. His blood has been shed, and his room is empty. Where we used to play video games and lie intertwined is now just empty… life gone, no more joy. I barely remember his voice, but his face haunts every memory I own, never misplaced. I’m stuck in this grey haze, missing my sweet brown-eyed boy… forever fifteen, my lover, my lifeline. I’m ready to meet him again and run away like we always promised.

Entry #2104

Beautiful Woman

When I was sixteen, my mom downspiraled, and I saw her at her worst ever. I personally saw the way she was changing, and it killed me inside to watch her turn from a healthy, beautiful woman into a sucked-up drug addict who didn't care about anything but herself and drugs. I hated seeing my mom struggle. Often, I'd see her walking through One-Mile looking like a zombie. When I saw her, I would give her every little thing I had—deodorant, extra clothes from the gym. I would sometimes take pictures with her and cry my eyes out on the way home.

I thought she would just magically become the person she was before drugs, but it never happened. I believed in her fully—until I couldn’t. It was all just too much. I never thought she would go to prison, but that became reality too. She’s been locked up for two years now, and I haven’t spoken to her since that day I saw her walking. It still kills me that I barely know her anymore.

I would still forgive her no matter what. I often pray that I’ll get the loving mother I once had. I still care for her, and I look out for my younger brother because he’s going through the same stuff I am, minus being locked up.

Entry #2105

My Own

I am my own person. 

I am lost in my own feelings. 

I am hungry for love. 

I am a walking target. 

I am focused on change. 

I am not going back to toxic relationships. 

I am not going into someone's shadow. 

I am not my past. 

I am not focused on temporary numbness.

I am not my charges. 

I am the son my parents always wanted them to be: 

Determined and self made.

Even though I lost hope.

Violence is not who I am. 

Optimistic to change. 

No matter the situation. 

Entry #2106

Acceptance and Accountability

My whole life I’ve struggled with accepting the things that were out of my control. Sometimes I did have a reason not to accept things beyond my control, like when I grew up around domestic violence. I didn’t accept my stepdad abusing my mom. I was scared, lost, and hopeless. At that point in my life, I was too little to defend my mother. That’s the worst thing—to hear your mom screaming for her life in the next room over and you can’t do anything about it. Those are the kinds of things I didn’t have control over, and I never again will accept my mom getting beat on. I’m in control now, mf—that’s how I feel about the situation.

But back to growing up, I’ve always backed the system. Don’t get me wrong, the system has failed many families in need, but for the first time in my life, I have accepted being locked up. I’ve been locked up for two years and some odd months, and it took me that whole time to realize that this place saved my life. I have never really taken accountability or accepted the fact that I broke the law and now have to pay the price for my actions. It was always, “I don’t deserve this, I didn’t do nothing wrong,” or, “I did six months, let me out now.” It was never, “You know what, I broke the law and I’m now doing time for what I did.” Now I’ve got to do my time patiently.

In all honesty, I’m thankful for getting locked up. I never thought I would learn anything from geo programming. I have always said, “Those programs are pointless; I got all the skills I need. I’ll be fine, just get me out.” But, to be real, I have learned so much about coping and life skills from the programs provided in this hall. There was a point when I finally said to myself, “I can’t make my time go any faster, so why not take something away from this place and be the best version of myself?”

Nobody is perfect; we are all going to have bad days. So, are you going to take it as it is? Or are you going to dig yourself a deeper hole? I also struggled with that—turning one bad day into a charge. Because I got the “f-it’s,” I always did that. I now have impulse control, positive self-talk, self-regulation, integrity, and take accountability for my actions.

If it wasn’t for the system, I would’ve been six feet under. This place truly saved my life, and it could also save yours if you do the time and don’t let the time do you. Learn to accept the things you cannot change. Be your own person, try your best, and stay focused. This isn’t forever.

Entry #2107

It Runs in the Family

Being locked up runs in my family. Left and right, I’ve seen my dad in and out of jail or on drugs. It’s not a good thing to see your family in and out of jail and on drugs. After a while, you start going down the same path. I started to see I was going down the same path.

It was hard at first to accept the fact I was messed up, but now I’ve been locked up for three months doing an eight-month term, and I realize that I want to be a better person and do good. Sitting in my cell, staring at these concrete walls, I realize I’m not just hurting me—I’m hurting the people who care about me. I put my mom in some messed-up situations, but I weather it by knowing I have a good heart and am a good person at heart.

Entry #2108

Change Sooner

I have been locked up in Juvie eleven times. This will end soon, though. I am turning eighteen four months after my release. My dad was locked up for sixteen years and was released early from a twenty-five-year sentence.

All I ever knew was doing bad stuff, but I used to love stealing cars and guns because of my dad. That’s what everybody would talk about, so that’s all I ever did—I wanted to be just like him. Now I’ve realized I don’t have to be just like him. I want to be myself.

People like my mom used to see me as a druggie, and my dad was always in prison, so I never got to really talk to him. I decided to make my own path. My dad just got out of prison, and he’s doing good. My mom is a drunk, so I really don’t know what to say about that. If I could change anything, it would probably be myself—and a lot sooner—because then I wouldn’t have had to struggle as much as I did growing up.

Entry # 2109

This Place Has Changed

This place has changed. Two years ago was my first time in here. I was happy to come to juvenile hall because my brother was in here. I got caught up for stealing a car and going on a high-speed chase. I was in here for about a month, kind of loving it—the food was good and the people were chill.

Coming in and out of juvenile, I’ve realized it has gotten hella boring. I’m stuck in here for some time because of a violation. Now I’m bored as ****. But the pros are: I am good at rapping now, making some bangers. I’ve been hitting the gym to get ripped, and I am eating hella good up in here. I now get TRs (temporary releases). Hopefully God doesn’t put me back in this place. Some stuff might happen, but I’m going to try to do good.

Entry #2110

Limited Options

They say, “Don’t do bad. Don’t do that or this.” Well, now I know they’re right. I got through the pain and the struggle of being poor. I kept pushing and ramming through that wall that kept holding me back. When life struck down on me—whether it was the loss of a homie or family member, or having to put food on the table for my family—I started doing whatever it took to get out of poverty.

But even when you try to get away from the 5-0, sometimes they catch you. And it looks like you’re just a bad kid wanting to mess up, but sometimes there is no choice. I’m getting through incarceration all on my own.

Entry #2111

My Pain

When you sit inside your cell

Wishing you could just get bail.

My dad once told me I was

Going to hell.

I know you don’t know my story

You might not tell it with glory.

So please don’t ignore me

Let’s start my story while it’s still in my brain

If you don’t understand, you might just feel my pain.

I’ve made some mistakes

Life ain’t easy, like making cakes.

I got put in my car

We drove it away, and I never felt the same.

Now I’m sitting here behind all

Of these bars, thinking about all of my pain.

When I got my case

Murder was thrown in my face.

Entry #2112

Zombies

Growing up, zombies terrified me—their faces falling off, screeching, ripping people apart. I used to have nightmares about being bitten by a zombie and coming back as one. I would wake up screaming and crying because I didn’t want to die. Over the years, that fear faded. I didn’t fear zombies as much anymore; they were just fictional characters, nothing more.

But on a bad trip on LSD, the fear came back—different this time. I realized I wanted to be one. With the right chemicals, I could be. Zombies appealed to me because they were dead—they didn’t have to think or feel. They were blank, yet they roamed the earth and were alive. Finding out I could simply take a couple hundred milligrams of prescribed drugs and achieve the same effect, I felt… well, I felt nothing. I was a zombie. I was the walking dead.

Entry #2113

No Way

I thought I could never get away—

I was walking the streets all day.

Why do they tell me I can’t stay?

It makes me sad, how people say, “You can’t change,”

Because they choose to do the same thing every day.

There ain’t no way they can still be the same.

We all try to hide our pain

It’s hard walking through the rain

Thinking about all of your shame

They all tell me I don’t have a name.

But I had a dream that I changed

There ain’t no way you could still be the same every day.

I just wish my pain would go away

I wish I didn’t think about it during the day

But there ain’t no way.

Entry #2114

Do They See

You know, I have a question—

Do they see that I’m hurting?

Do they see the trauma?

Do they know that I’ve tried—

Do they feel how I feel?

Do they hear my cries in the night

It hurts, and I’m scared

But do they see that

I’m one person just trying

To stay without trying—

If you know what that means.

Or see the pain in my heart?

But it’s like no one gets it; no one gets that

Every step is like dragging

An anvil across the floor.

So do they see

What I see?

Entry #2115

Mom

I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m human enough to face them today.
The people I know want me to be okay.

Why get high?
I know I am just going to get lower every day.

Life would be so sweet if I’d just have listened.
What I hear around here is that I’m a ray—
A ray of sunshine, even when I don’t feel it.

What I did was stupid, no doubt it was done.
But the smartest thing I did was take the fent out of that bong,
Because everyone I care about, everyone who cared, is all gone.

Now, six years later, when I wake up at dawn,
I wish I could go to heaven.
It’s where I think I belong.

Entry #2116

Running

I ran into this life without any help. 

That was when I was about 12. 

I’m grown up now. 

I learned a lot about myself from being locked up.

Talking through the cells. 

Then I learned, it was time to ask for help. 

Entry # 2117

It Shows

Grass-colored trees, blue skies, colorful land that everyone likes. But what about the dark skies and the dead leaves? There is nothing like the sounds of when I was happy versus the times I was mad, angry, or sad. It hurt a lot—because no one was there, because the expectations are different from people who know me, expecting me to be honestly someone I’m not. It kills me.

Mentally, why try if it’s not enough? Because hearing “don’t do this,” “don’t do that,” “you’re stupid,” or “you’re wrong” shows in my heart, in my head, on my wrists, and in my thoughts. But no one sees that.

Entry #2118

Silent

I am silent. 

I am a tyrant. 

I am part of a family. 

I am part of a system. 

I am trying to change. 

I am not part of a family anymore. 

I am not truthful. 

I am not bad. 

I am no longer a brother. 

I am trying.