THIS MONTH'S PROMPTS

Writers were invited to explore memories, describe a day in the hall, or take the open topic and write what needed to be written.

Entry #2248

Everything

I remember my mom not showing up to the park that day
the first time I stole
my first fight
I remember the worst parts of my nights all alone, stuck in my thoughts
the voices in my head I would try to silence by drowning them in alcohol
I remember sitting alone and wondering, why did my mom leave me?
the story of how she left
her trying to visit me for the first time in 15 years, while I was in the system
I remember waiting to know who my dad was
I remember my mom selling drugs right in front of me after not being in my life
I remember the first time it hit me I was going down a really bad path
my best friend since middle school telling me I need to change my ways
I remember the first hit of weed
losing a lot of close friends because of my alcohol problem
the cry from my grandma when I first got locked up
I remember getting locked up
I remember when I held my first gun
hiding from the cops
I remember the betrayal
being lied to for the first time
hearing “I promise” and it getting broke
I remember the first “I love you” and being deceived
I remember hurting somebody I loved
the first time I decided to drink
the first time I got mad and things were broken
I remember my grandma telling me to avoid the path of drug use, knowing it runs in my genes
I remember the first time I felt hate
getting left out
getting embarrassed at school when kids would talk about their moms coming to pick them up
I remember when I changed
I remember Father’s Day hitting me the hardest
I remember when my grandma gave me my first sip of lemonade
breaking her heart because of how I was living
I remember skipping school
seeing my mom in those apartments that day
feeling guilty
I remember the first time I saw my grandma in visiting at the hall
I remember when I gave up on life
I remember when I used to be happy
the first time depression hit
wanting to fall asleep and never wake up
I remember feeling worthless
how I used to never admit I needed to change when I knew I did
I remember getting suspended from middle school
I remember getting expelled
I remember how I felt being in juvie over the holidays
the Thanksgiving family dinner in visiting
how my grandma said, “This is the worst Christmas ever.”
I remember how it felt to be in here when my grandma needed help
I remember her letter that read, “My sweet boy, what happened?”
I remember when my people stopped answering the collect calls
I remember how excited my grandma was when I had my first TR
I remember everything.

Entry #2249

A Day In The Life

As I wake up to the smell of stale air, I stretch my arms and think of the hours ahead. I don't know a lot of what happens behind the scenes here, but what I do know is that today will almost certainly be the same as yesterday. For another thirty minutes, I stare at the clock through my cell window until my door gets popped open for breakfast. I sit at a small table, swirling around my watery eggs with others who are stuck in the same loop as me—people who should have gotten a full 10 hours of sleep, but are still tired from a restless night, just like me. As we eat, the staff remind us that we are not to talk unless we absolutely need something; they call it "silent cafe."

After chow is over, the staff call us to our rooms one by one "for our own safety." As I sit in my room in complete silence, I hear the sound of the shower water slam against the floor as they get turned on across the pod. Once again, we get popped out one by one for showers. By now, I am far too used to the smell of the cheap shampoo, conditioner, and body wash that doesn't really work, but all the same, I wash as normal. After showers, I am in my room yet again for about 30 to 45 minutes until I get popped out for workouts.

The workouts are my favorite time of the day; I get to truly let my anger out without a punishment. Workouts last an hour until I am walked back to the pod. I am exhausted as sweat drips down my forehead and my feet slap against the floor, knowing that the shower I just had was for nothing because it will be my only one for the day. As I am sent back to my cell, I birdbath in the sink that is connected to my toilet.

After being down for a little while, I get popped back out. Around this time, I am usually doing college work on a dingy computer that is as old as me. This is how I fuel my time for a lot of the hours throughout the day—typing away on a keyboard until I can't anymore. "Educating my time away," I call it.

A little bit before noon, I am sent down again to get ready for lunch. The staff tell us we are in our rooms so often so we can meditate before we transition into a different activity. Around noon, the trays come back. Lunch is also my favorite part of the day because it's not as bad as breakfast and dinner. Today we had roast beef and potatoes with steamed broccoli; it could have used some seasoning, though I'm not complaining.

After lunch, we go through the same one-by-one process back to our cells. This is usually one of the longer times we are in our cells because our chow time is only 20 minutes for each meal. So, if we start lunch at 12:00 and go back down at 12:20, we are in our cells until 1:15. As we are down, I ponder seeing my family again, hoping that they are all well and happy as I am wasting away.

After a while, I hear my door get popped open and I come out for group after group until 5:00. 5:00 is dinner, which is one corn dog and French fries—the usual. Then, it's back to my room until 6:15.

This is our recreational time. You can write letters to your family or use the wall phone to call family or whoever. A lot of youth have an 8PM bedtime, but if you act right, you get a later bedtime. I spend my rec time on the phone or playing cards with the other youth. Then, I get called to bed at 9:00.

Throughout the night, I spend my time reading, writing, and just trying to distract myself from the thought that I am quite literally trapped in a small cell for the next 10 hours. This is a day in the life where I am from, and I could not wish this upon anyone.

Entry #2250

Perfectly Broken Dream

I remember looking at the beautiful sun that shines before me.
I remember seeing my first star that lays ahead of me.
I remember seeing light again after being incarcerated.
I remember looking out on my front porch and thinking about my life’s choices.
I remember the decisions I’ve made over the years that brought me here.
I remember picking up the Bible for the first time.
I remember seeing my family pass away.
I remember the perfect dream I had, the one my dad and I were in.
I remember thanking the Lord for forgiveness after committing my first crime.
I remember that deep inside I am both good and capable.
I remember the memories my dad and I shared together before I was taken from his care many, many years ago.
I remember the glory of opening my eyes for the first time. It felt like heaven.
I remember having peace and freedom and it being taken away from me instantly.
I remember that everyone is good, that we just make bad decisions in life.
I remember seeing my dad in jail, and the thought that I was in juvey scared me.
I remember my dad breaking into his car violently and his girl calling the police because he was so drunk. The storm was really bad but we eventually got through it.
I remember my mom’s name but she disappeared before I was even 2 years old.
I remember my dad having my back no matter what I did or didn’t do. He is my purpose for continuing to try to do good and to avoid further time locked up.
I remember the glory days, sitting on my knees, and begging for forgiveness with prayer.
I remember everything in life is not fair, and the perfect broken dream is not always clear.

Entry #2251

Remembrance

I remember. I remember a time in my life when things were easy. A peaceful, ignorant child, not a care in the world. Too bad I didn't know at the time, didn't know how much hardship and the unmistakable feeling of fear that would burden me as I grew older. I remember a lot of things, some good, some bad.

Though I don't hear a lot of stuff these days, just the faded echoes on the walls, that time heals all wounds. But does it?

I remember the day I got sentenced with all this time. I turned around to see my family that wasn't there. Alone. A burden to the world. A non-fiction to my life that demands who I should be. Who to be then, but the person that I was taught to be.

I remember all who were kind to me, and I can never forget who wasn't. I remember everything. I remember.

Entry #2252

A Girl I Once Knew

I remember my memories as they come and go, weaving their way into my brain and not letting go.
I remember the darkness in the eyes, flames masking the emptiness in their blue skies.
I remember the twist of the knife, itching for it to go deeper.
I remember the click of cuffs on my swollen wrists.
I remember the screams and cries of a girl I once knew as myself.
I remember my thoughts and my life.
While I write this, every memory floods out of my brain.
An unfinished piece

Entry #2253

No More Demons

It’s dark in the room but bright outside
It’s clearly time for another ride
This time I just might
Kick a bottle and shoot for the stars
But the wicked asked me to bow
I want a glory hit but look at me now
Got a J.O.B. and a reason to live
Bye-bye to old habits
And hello to new kicks
I got bullied, yeah, it wasn’t fair
So I sit in my lawn chair
Stop right there, the demons have woken
And yet the angels have not spoken
Got told to go hit a trail
I’m special, can't you tell?
No more demons
Just trying to get by
I’ve got nothing left to hide
I’m sorry for the wicked, it’s too soon
I glorify with God under the moon
He has risen me higher than I can count
And I will no longer go hell-bound
The spigot in my yard has broken
But not me, I’m not golden
I am the picture no one wanted
So, I’m making the world better again
I clean up trash and rest my head
Now it’s dark outside but light in my room
I got 39 credits left of school

Entry #2254

Wake Up

The moment I wake up in the hall, I hear the guard waking me up to shower. The first thing I see are my four walls and my tagged-up door. I have a lot of thoughts racing through my mind about the day. I remain normal and patient.

I work out and read in my cell to take up time. I hang out with my close friends when outside. It’s not that bad here, but damn, I hate being away from certain people and not knowing what’s going to happen.

I feel like I let people I love down, but I’m gonna find out when I get out. Hopefully my girlfriend and brothers hold it down for me.

Entry #2255

“Yay. It’s Biscuits and Gravy—Oh Wait, I’m Dreaming Again.”

Dreams, oh, the dreams—the best thing in here. Then you wake up to the cold reality. Looking around in your four-corner box, with all the names and sets of everyone who has been in your box before you. Then you hear the familiar sound of the cold water from the showers and the staff yelling at you to wake up, like the loud click of your door didn’t already wake you up. After fighting for the best shower, the cold water hits you like bullets. Once it finally warms up, you hear the same old staff: “Wrap it up or you’ll lose points.” The crappy soap doesn’t even have a nice smell to it, and the shampoo gives you dandruff.

After you’re done, you look at the same bummy yellow shirt, brown drawers, and blue pants. The only exciting thing you have to look forward to is the meals. Checking every day for that one meal that’s always good: biscuits and gravy. But you realize it’s only Monday, and that unhappy tray of eggs makes that excitement go away. But yet, you still eat it just to fill your stomach. You only have 20 minutes to eat. Once your time is up, it’s time to go down to your cell.

“Thank God, I get to go to sleep again.” You’re eager to get to see a different reality until you get flash-banged by the lights. “CLICK.” But, of course, your door pops. If you’re enrolled, you go to the small classroom. First period, ELA—8:30–9:15. Once you’re done with class, you go to your room. What’s supposed to be only 15 minutes in your room seems much longer because the staff seem to slow-play the hell out of it. Before you know it, it’s 9:45.

Finally, the only fun part of the day is PE. They either do volleyball or basketball. Most of the time it’s volleyball. You line up and get patted down. Then you go into the hall and to the gym. You play for 45 minutes-ish, then line up again, get patted down, and go to the pod. Once you get your hygiene, you go down to your room. Now you’re in your box again, thinking, “Well, it’s too late in the day to go to sleep,” and now I’m sweaty and stinky, so you pretty much took a shower just to get dirty. Wonderful.

You’re down for another 20 minutes, and then it’s time to go to class again: Math. Math is from 10:30 to 11:15. Then you get a break. You get a piece of fruit and do whatever for ten minutes. Then it’s science time, which is 11:25–12:00. After that, you go down for lunch. If you have a job, you’ll pop out when it’s your time to do your job. If you have meal cleanup, you’ll pop out when the café is over. If you have a meal setup, you’ll pop out before the café and set up trays. You’ll do those jobs for each meal.

The other jobs are showers, where you do them after breakfast, and late night. With late night, you just clean up after everyone is down and then sleep. These jobs give you points for commissary. Depending on what level you are, the better snacks you get. There are five levels. How to level up is pretty simple: you just do the program without getting into trouble. Level one is five days with no zeros or ones. Level two is a week without zeros or ones. Level three is two weeks without ones and zeros. If you get a one, you go back down to level three. Then, to go to level five, you have to be good for another two weeks, and then you start the days to go to level five. It is a month from level four to level five. The good thing about leveling up is you get a later bedtime and more privileges. You get better food items from the commissary cart from B and G. Every Friday, you get to choose a snack.

After lunch, you go down for at least 35 minutes, and then it’s history last, from 1:00 to 1:15. Then you go down for another ten minutes, and then it’s homework/advisory hour, which lasts from 2:00 to 2:50. Then, after school, there are programs. On Monday through Wednesday, B and G comes. Mondays and Tuesdays are large muscle, and Wednesday is Money Matters. That lasts from 3:00 to 3:50. After that, you have anger management class, which lasts all the way to dinner at 5:00. You eat for 20 minutes and go down until 6:15. Then it’s free rec until your bedtime. Thursdays and Fridays, you do your own groups.

On the weekend, it’s pretty chill. It kinda feels like you’re back at home until you go back to your room. On Saturdays, you clean your room and the pod you’re in. That’s the only day you pretty much get to sleep in. On Sundays, you do nothing but free rec all day. There are visitations on Thursdays and Sundays. On Thursdays, it’s 6:30 to 7:30. On Sunday, it’s 1:00 to 2:30.

There is some good about being in here, though. You can graduate early, and you can do a lot that you may not have had the time for, because you sure do have a lot of time here. It may feel like the world has stopped because you’re here, but it doesn’t. It’s on in the outside world. Time doesn’t stop for us here. We stop ourselves from being great by being here.

Entry #2256

The Devil

The devil yells from orange prescription bottles and empty liters of clear fire. He speaks to young, innocent minds and takes the form of anything one uses for pleasure. He is in the drugs you take. He helps pull the trigger or swing the knife. He encourages flying fists and kicks. He eases every urge into your body.

He spins you in circles until you’re dizzy and sick with his desire. He will not end. He doesn’t end when you die or I die. He is forever.

Don’t let him manipulate your mind. He will latch onto what you leave behind, and I hope you understand this to be true because he is forever, and this piece of writing is too.

Entry #2257

POP

6:00 AM. I'm wide awake, getting up, brushing my teeth, and getting ready for workouts. Next is the noise of a steel door. POP. “Are you going to workouts?” Same old question I hear every morning.

After workouts, we come back for showers and get ready for setup down at the kitchen. We share days with the other pod. On Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, we are down at the kitchen. During my stay in this program, I'm trying to stay to myself and focus on what's going to help me succeed as a young man.

I go to school every day, and even when I don't want to, I try not to miss a day of workouts because all these changes are a start to a new me.

Next, we have programming throughout the day, like B&G and A.R.T., and I should be starting M.R.T. soon. Until then, I will just keep focusing on my program and what's best for me.

After programming, I deal with the same old peers I can't wait to get away from. There are a few I can deal with, but with some of them, it's like a repeating topic of the old behaviors that led me to be sitting here.

Even explaining what a day in juvenile hall is like—I shouldn't even be able to know what an average day is here. I should know what an average day is at a job I'd like to work.

Then it's 8:00, my bedtime. Getting ready for bed, I have a routine of brushing my teeth, making my bed, and lying down.

Then I wake up.

POP.

“Are you going to workouts?”

Entry #2258

Surviving Richmond

Growing up in North Richmond was never dull. At times it was fun. At times it was scary.

I grew up unfazed by the gangs in my city, numbed to the death, the poverty, the violence, not even realizing it wasn't a normal thing.

Growing up in North Richmond meant doing bad things. It meant being in a gang and watching loved ones die a little too early. It meant dealin’ drugs and gettin’ locked up. Growing up in North Richmond meant loyalty is most important, even more so than your blood family.

Growing up in North Richmond meant hating everything. It meant no ma, no dad, and definitely no hiding. You always had to be strong, even on your deathbed. Growing up in North Richmond, there was always a new lesson to be learned. There was always going to be someone out to get you, and there was never a “safe place” to hide.

Growing up in North Richmond for sure had its ups and downs. So many good times, but the bad ones shadow behind. The community was always there for me like family should’ve been, but you always had to watch your back, never knowing who to trust or distrust.

I wanted out, but I also hated the idea of leaving my people behind. My community was the only thing I knew. It was my home and my family.

The 510 will always be a part of me no matter what. But now, after being locked up so many times, I think I might work towards a better place for me, my two daughters, and my bm.

I survived Richmond, Oakland, Antioch, and Stockton, and I don’t plan on leavin’ this world any time soon. So watch out, world. I’m on my way to greatness.

Entry #2259

Up All Night

I remember not knowing how to tie my shoes
and riding my first bike.
I remember my first day of kindergarten
getting picked on
throwing sticks, fighting, spitting
bullying others.
I remember getting suspended from school
getting my recess taken away
my teacher having me sit away from everyone.
I remember my teacher had cancer.
I remember going to Boys & Girls Club after school.
I remember 5th grade.
I remember the fire.
Riding my bike to school on November 8th, 2018
and after being there for an hour
the principal told me to ride my bike back home.
I remember all the chaos going on
hopping from hotel to hotel
having nothing
the miserable two years it took
until we could go back home.
I remember coronavirus
having Zoom calls for school.
I remember going back to school
shy and quiet
practicing my social skills.
Riding my scooter to school.
I remember going fishing every day
meeting new people
opening up and being myself.
Not giving a ****.
Breaking things.
I remember my first hit.
My first drink.
I remember that summer I fell off
stopped going home
smoked every day.
I remember becoming a drunk
racking from Grocery Outlet
doing stupid things
ruining my life.
I remember couch hopping
staying up all night
going to parties.

Entry #2260

I Have My Life Back

I remember the first time I came to the hall. I was just here for the day, until 9:00 at night. This is my second time here, and I’ve changed since being here.

I quit taking drugs and drinking. Now I go to NA and AA. I think about my little sisters and how I can be a big sister to them again. I don't recommend starting drugs or drinking because it can mess up your life. You can lose everything like I did, but now I've got everything back. I have my life back.

I remember my mom crying on my first court date. This will be my last time in the hall. I hate not seeing my little sisters. I need to be there for them because I don't want them to make the same choices that I made.

I’d avoid coming to the hall. It's boring.

 Entry #2223

As It Ticks More and More

As my three-month court review day gets closer and closer, my time ticks and ticks. The months pass and pass. I think about life in my four-wall box. I think of freedom. I think of guns. I think of weed. I think of running around with my boys again. I think about that life I’ve been living, and I truly wonder if I’m actually going to change this time, or if this is just another cycle—going to juvie, getting out, and doing the same thing with the same people.

 

There has been more than just getting locked up that should’ve changed my mind about this lifestyle. I still remember the gunshots like it was yesterday. We were four deep. I get glimpses back from it—it gives me an adrenaline rush just thinking about it. Or the one night me and cuzin’ were just rocking OUR lonely. It seems like it just comes to you, and ever since then I always wanted my own pipe.

 

At first I would rock with cuzin’s. Then it came to a point when Brother told me, “Rock this.” I loved my lil’ piece. It changed me. I felt invincible, like nobody was getting in my way, and if they did, it was gunfire. I didn’t worry about anybody pulling up on me anymore. Ever since then, I never left without it. Even if I didn’t have it, Brother did—and that was life. We were rocking with each other no matter the cause.

 

I would still think about changing, but I never did. Then I would start thinking about my family—my grandmother, all the people who love me and want me to turn my life around. I start to stress out about it. All I have put them through, how I’ve been gone for a minute now… it makes me want to get out and do good. I want to be there for them and never come back again.

It kills me not knowing what I am going to do because I want to do good. I want to be there for them, but then I think sometimes I am in too deep—and that’s what sucks. Because what if I am in too deep? What if this will be the rest of my life?

 

And that’s what I think about all my days, at least some point in the day or night—whenever it hurts to eat the truth.

 

I know I’ve messed up my life, and they always say, “You’re young, you still have time to turn it around.” Yeah, they’re probably not wrong. But the fact is, when I get out, I’m not sure if I really can change, knowing everything on the outside of these walls is waiting for me.

 

When I get out, it will all still be there: the guns, the weed, the alcohol, and even the cops waiting for a **** up. Probation. The people who want me gone. The homies who’ve been waiting for me to get out and get back to the same old activities.

 

Just because I’m in here and my life has been on hold doesn’t mean their lives were on hold. Just because I’ve been trying to change doesn’t mean the world and the people around me have—or even will.

So as today’s time ticks and ticks, I wonder to myself: will this be my changing point? Will I go home, stay clean, work on myself, get a job, and get good grades?

 

I mean, I’ve thought the same way before. The first time I got locked up, I thought to myself, I’m never coming back. And ever since then, I’ve been in and out of juvenile hall. Every time has been more time under my belt.

 

I used to think it would just stay in the same rotation. Get picked up by the cops or probation. Get booked. Answer the same questions you answer every time you enter intake. Get in the same shower. Put on the same yellow shirt. Look into the same camera, standing against the same wall as they take your picture for a mug shot.

 

Walk down the same hall. Go into the same detention pod. Stay for a week or two, maybe a month. Go to a court date and get out with more probation under my belt. Same ankle monitor. Same disappointment on my grandma’s face as she picks me up from the hall once again.

 

The same text messages from my boys when I let them know I’m free. The same #freemybrother back and forth, until I got hit with the Camp program.

 

Now I have been here—in all, with my time in the holding pod—coming up on six months, and it’s really made me think about life.

 

I hope to change, and I pray God will help me with my trial of success so I can be there for everyone I have let down. So as I wrap this up and go back to the same cell—same letters, same pictures—I pray I will change for good this time around.

 

Entry #2224

HELP

Watching her bruised lips, I see her panic. I see every pill trying to escape her mouth. Knowing nobody listened when she had a problem, she claws at the back of her throat, begging to rid herself of the poison that creeps down into her empty stomach.

 

She hated every moment of the horrible feeling of bugs on her, coming from every crack in the sidewalk, swarming her and never letting her out of their grasp. I know she wishes she was loved, accepted in a way. Spinning. Falling. I can’t tell. She feels the rocks and dirt like needles in her greedy, never satisfied hands.

 

The next time I see her, she grabs me in the hospital bed and tells me a secret: “Why do you avoid me? I am you. We are struggling. Ask for help.”

 

And still I go on watching her. If I ask for help, I may be able to get past this. Instead, I sit and watch as voices eat her alive and monsters scratch at her soul. I beg her to get help, but she is me.

 

I need help, but I avoid this woman to my breaking point. I watch as she calls for a doctor. Finally, she says, “I NEED HELP.”

 

Entry #2225

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

The day drags on like the devil bursting from hell, dragging one disturbed soul after another back down with him… morbid right? No, I’ll tell you what’s morbid—waking up in the same cell block and smelling someone else’s must on your “freshly washed” blankets.

 

I vomit, shove it back down my throat like a child holding in rotten-tasting food. I get out to the pod and instantly regret coming out. Immediately, I am hit with the smell of every person rotting in the very seat they are sitting in every morning.

 

(Breathe.)

 

I am collected. Then I spiral. Nothing’s new… I mean, this is a locked facility. The only change is faces and charges. We hear everything. Sometimes I’m quiet so I hear more and go unnoticed. Other times anger takes over my soul like a spark, leading to a flame, leading to arson.

 

I talk to people every day, but somehow it is the same topic as yesterday. You’d think with eighteen years of experience I’d have way more to say than, “Ay, what’s for lunch.” I get so mad…

 

Entry #2226

Once and For All

Been here a month so far,
layin’ here proned out,
wishin’ I was back home, hanging out on my couch.

But now I’m in this cell,
writing these bunk ass rhymes,
wishin’ I wasn’t alive.

Wonderin’—will I take my own life?

Maybe.

But this Zyprexa helpin’ a lot,
so maybe not.
Or maybe it’s these rhymes that are saving my life.

Never thought some words would change my life.
Now I’m not thinking constant thoughts of suicide,
but I am still missin’ that high.

It’s like those Xans are always on my mind,
and that alcohol has dyscombobulated my mind.
I guess that’s no surprise.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing these dumb little rhymes,
regarding suicide, wonderin’ will I take my own life?

Maybe this Zyprexa not enough,
because every time I come in this cell
it still feels like I wanna kill myself.

It just feels like there’s no escape from my mind,
stuck dwelling on these thoughts of suicide,
wonderin’ why I can’t find the good in this life.

Wait—will I take my own life?

I don’t know. Does a bear shit in the woods? Yeah.
I guess that’s no surprise.

But will I escape my mind? Probably not.
I probably will be stuck writing these dumb little rhymes for the rest of my time.

Never thought this place would teach me to rap,
but here I am turning letters into words,
words into rhymes,
rhymes into raps
that my family still won’t understand.

Maybe if I picked up that phone once or twice,
they’d understand a little more about my life—
about these bipolar rhymes and my depiction of life,
about these long nights, stayin’ up all night,
haunted by those satanic creatures that flood my mind,
just waiting for their time to strike.

About this Prozac that numbs my mind,
and that Abilify that gets me high,
wonderin’ why I can’t escape my mind.

Now missing that Ativan—
man, that shit is always on my mind.

I guess they’ll never understand what’s on my mind
until they read this book and see I’m not the bad man they picture me to be,
but a confused kid—
running, trying to escape my mind,
and closing all these open doors in life.

Now swallowed by these concrete walls,
wishing I could escape this juvenile hall
and enjoy my life, once and for all.

 

Entry #2227

They Said I’d Go Home

Who do I trust? Trust, to me, is somebody I can run to when things get rough. A person I know I can rely on. A person I know has my back whenever I need them to, whether the situation is right or wrong—just somebody who will be there.

 

It takes a lot for my trust to just be handed out. When I was younger, I was constantly getting lied to. Foster care is where it started. I was about six years old when I was placed in foster care. The same day I was removed from my home is when the lying started.

 

My foster parents told me, “Everything will be okay. You will be home tomorrow.” I was happy to hear that I would be home the next morning. But unfortunately, I was lied to and did not go home.

 

It was weird being around people I had never met before. They tried to do the best they could to make me feel at home, knowing I would be living with them for quite a while. But I didn’t trust them at all after they made the decision to lie to me.

 

When I was younger, it didn’t phase me as much because I wasn’t really familiar with trust. I still get lied to by my family today. How am I supposed to have trust for people when the people I am closest with—the ones who watched me grow—don’t tell me the truth?

 

I feel like they should, but who knows… maybe I can’t handle the truth.

 

Entry #2228

Old Life

 

Before I got locked up, I was running the streets. Every day before I started running the streets, I would be outside with all my friends. I would go home once in a while just to shower, get food, and charge my phone. Eventually, I would spend days outside and not go home at all.

 

The days slowly turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. Then I started to run the streets. I would stay up all night doing things I thought I wouldn’t do anymore, like steal, fight, and drink. I was constantly doing these things until I became addicted to alcohol. While I was using alcohol, I didn’t care about anyone or anything but running the streets.

 

Every now and then I would go home to make sure my family was okay, but they didn’t want anything to do with me because I was drinking and running the streets. I remember getting calls from everyone telling me to go home, but I didn’t listen. I continued to run the streets, drink, steal, and fight.

 

I thought this life was fun because I didn’t have to listen to anyone and I could do whatever I wanted. It was fun drinking until the rush wore off and I was throwing up everywhere. It was fun running the streets until I watched the streets take my best friend. It was fun stealing until my face was on a piece of paper taped to a window. It was fun fighting until I had cold metal around my wrists to keep me from fighting. I thought all of this was fun until I was helpless and had nobody to save me.

 

Eventually, I started to feel everything again. I was able to think straight and realize everything I’ve been through. I realized that I can’t go back and change everything that’s already been done. But for some reason, I still have a very strong urge to go back to my old life and run the streets again, knowing it will hurt me. For some reason, I don’t care. I would do anything and everything to get out of here and run the streets again.

 

Entry #2229

What I Carry

If you really knew me, you would know that I’m really just a sweet girl. You would know why I get so mad all the time. You would know that I get attached really easily.

 

If you really knew me, you would know why I hate my dad. You would know he is no longer in my life. You would know that I will throw everything away for someone I love—and I have.

You would know that my heart is fragile right now, and people need to be careful with it. You would know that I have really bad trust issues, and it might take a little while for someone to gain my trust.

 

You would know I first got locked up when I was 14. You would know I have been incarcerated six times. You would know my mom has my back now.

 

If you really knew me, you would know that I was so deep in depression at one point that people thought I was dead. You would know I have hurt many people close to me, and you would know I regret it. You would know how hard it was to get out of addiction, and you would know I am still worried.

 

If you really knew me, you would know that I’m scared of getting close to someone. You would know that once I do, I don’t look back.

 

You would know that I really miss talking to my cousin, LLA, forever 19. You would know that I miss my homeboy, LLV, forever 16.

 

If you really knew me, you would know that I hate almost everything about myself. You would know that I have been beaten over and over again by someone I loved.

 

If you really knew me…

 

Entry #2230

It Happened Fast

We swam, drank, smoked, and laughed. About 30 minutes later, an apartment manager kicked us out and told us to leave, so we cooperated. A tenant in the apartment followed us, and we were arguing with him when we started to leave. Once we took our shortcut back to my house, he kept following.

 

I walked up, taking my shirt off, showing my tats, threw my fanny pack to my cousin, and got in his face. We squared up, about to fight, but he upped a pole and put it to my face. I backed up. He shot at the floor, and I fell down by the tree.

 

Brother blew, and the guy took cover. Both of them were blowing at each other. I crawled behind the tree with my ears bleeding, hopped up, and ran with everybody else. One of my cousins was throwing up, coughing. I grabbed him, lifted his shirt, and checked him for a bullet wound.

 

I realized that day how quickly it can happen to lose somebody you love. I carried him over my shoulder with my friends. We got home, called a ride, and went and tossed both pipes.

 

I told my Brother I love him. I’ll rock with him till the end. I could’ve lost my life, and Brother saved me. I never really trusted until that day. Still recovering and pushing forward, I’ll always remember what Brother did for all of us that day, and I don’t know how I’m going to repay him.

 

Entry #2231

A Way Out

Every horrible pill fills my mouth like a chipmunk before winter.
Every finger shoved down my throat, I look in the mirror trying to grasp every pound my body has left.
I stare at the floor, letting thoughts consume me while my legs shake and I get dizzy.

Every written poem is an attempt to block out the noise in my tangled brain.
Every tear the earth takes while I beg the world to cry with me.

Every “almost love” shatters like the brittle bones of the elderly.
Every slice of innocent skin is a silent scream, hoping someone notices the missing red paint, hoping someone helps.

Every workout or run leaves me collapsing on the floor, empty, after not a single crumb was ever enough.
Every self-destructive thought calls my name—learning it, tasting it, using it.

My brain tells me every way is a way out.

 

Entry #2232

Who I Thought I Was vs. Who I Am Now

Growing up, I was a kid with a lot of energy. I didn’t listen, I got in trouble every day, and I didn’t really care. In preschool and kindergarten, I was always picking on kids, fighting, and acting out. I thought it was fun, and I thought I was a bad ass.

 

In fifth grade, things were already unstable after the Paradise fire. I was in and out of hotels and schools, always getting into trouble. When COVID hit and school went online, I barely showed up. I didn’t see the point.

 

When in-person school came back, I tried to do better at first. I was going to class and even liked wood shop. But after I cut my finger and had to leave that class, I started slipping again. I stopped going to school, started ditching, smoking, and hanging out with people I thought were cool. I just wanted to fit in.

 

It got worse. I started hanging out at what people called the trap house—escaping problems, smoking, drinking, and not thinking about anything real. I started becoming someone I wasn’t.

I thought I was tough, getting into fights and talking ****, but I realized a lot of it was really about protecting my people. One fight happened when someone pushed up on my little homie, and I stepped in. After that, I started to realize I wasn’t just trying to be hard—I was trying to look out for people I care about.

 

Who am I today? I am a caring, responsible, growing young man. I want the best for people, even those who don’t treat me right. I also want to succeed myself. I never thought I would graduate high school, but now I am in the Camp program, and it has helped me reflect and grow.

I thought I would never say this, but I will now: I want to change. I want to be better. I want to be successful.

 

Entry #2233

Everyone Hates a Villain

The lesson I learned the hard way is probably pushing away the people I need in life the most.

I guess I was raised that way. I always thought it was tough not to ask for help or lean on someone. That mindset is probably part of how I ended up locked up. If I had ever just asked for help, I probably wouldn’t have gotten caught up in the streets, the system, or drugs.

 

I’ve lost and gained a lot of things. I wish I could go back in time to my younger self and slap the **** out of him and tell him to grow up. But most likely, he would’ve just ignored me. All the time, I was told to get my head out of the clouds and grow up. I always heard that word—“GROW UP.” I probably would’ve never grown up if it wasn’t for this hard past year. I would still be trapped in stress, stuck in my kid brain.

 

That’s why I’m thankful for my parents—for pushing me and raising me to be prepared for whatever life brings, without breaking apart. If I wasn’t raised like that, I would probably be six feet under. But nothing is free. I lost amazing people, not realizing what they meant to me until I was locked up. Everyone hates the villain because he sacrifices the world to save one person.

 

Entry #2234

Learning the Hard Way

I always felt like I already knew everything, but I had to learn the hard way. My father told me everything I needed to know about this cold, real world, but I still had to learn the hard way. I should have listened to him, but I didn’t. I was moving sloppily, doing things he told me never to do, and now look where I’m at.

 

But I had to learn the hard way.

 

I look back and think about what I could have done differently, and I still don’t think **** would have changed—but I had to learn the hard way.

 

The thing about learning the hard way is that you have to teach yourself. It often takes time and a lot of mistakes for someone to realize and change their actions or behaviors. That’s the whole point of learning things the hard way.

 

Another thing is that nobody can force you to change. It’s on you if you want that for yourself.

I’ve been learning things the hard way my whole life. It took time and a lot of thinking for me to realize that. Ever since I’ve been locked up, I’ve just been thinking and thinking. All I can do is sit with my thoughts about how things could be so different for me.

 

And that’s what learning things the hard way really is—you realize it’s all up to you if you want to make a difference and change.

 

Entry #2235

Cursed Numbers

Acid. Cocaine. Molly. Xanax. Perc 30s. Shrooms. Weed. Lean.
My drug problems—sometimes that’s all I feel.

 

I don’t know what to feel. I wonder if what I’m living is real. Everything about my life feels surreal—high-speed chases and robberies. I still don’t know how to feel.

 

Sometimes I want to put a bullet in my brain. I don’t have a purpose. I feel insane. So I pop a pill so I won’t feel the same.

 

3, 7, 11, 15, 16—cursed numbers. CPS.
At 3, a living hell.
At 7 and 11, a runaway life.
At 15, drug problems. Now I can’t imagine living without them.
At 16, coke in the school lobby, snatching cars, running again. High-speed chases, intoxicated. It almost cost me my life.

 

Two crashes in a month. I should’ve died.

I don’t feel blessed, because now I’m in a cell. Overconfidence got me here. I can’t run from my problems in this cell.

 

The judge wants nine years of my life. If I knew that, I swear I could’ve outran 11 units and choppers—but I didn’t. Now I’m stuck in juvie with hella high blockers.

 

If the judge sees this, I’m joking. Just trying to find peace through forced sobriety.

I can’t—so I feel like I gotta stay high.

 

Entry #2236

The Hard Way

I grew up in gutta, banging, going crazy, doing drugs, catching cases, and kicking it with killers until they started switching up on me. I dropped it all now. I’m facing time. I learned the hard way. My parents were right about everything. Now I’m changing.

 

I stopped banging and everything started changing for the better—focusing on my family, PO, court, and school. Ever since I changed the person I called “brother,” a hit was put out on me.

Now I am locked up, asking myself, “Who is going to protect my pops?” When it goes down, I’m praying to the Lord to let me out so I can protect my pops since he is living by himself. I wanna be there for him. I learned the hard, hard way.

 

Entry #2237

A Lesson

A lesson I learned the hard way was don’t affiliate with snakes and rats, because that will lead you to wasted time in your life. I was doing bad, on a sick one—drinking and using on the daily. Nothing could change that, and nobody wanted me to change. Nobody cared what I did.

 

I had to change by myself, which only happened because I popped somebody. Nobody knows that feeling unless it happens firsthand. The next day I got sober in an instant, only with a vape and a pole with me at all times.

 

It wasn’t until I drank and used again that I got locked up, all in the same day. I was transferred to another state, and now 8 months later they might be dropping the whole case altogether. It affected me a lot, separating me from society and not knowing when I’ll be home.

 

I would say that I plan to put the poles down, but I know I gotta stay clutchin’, so I just have to stay clear of the rats and snakes. The whole situation changed me mentally because the cells change lives.

 

Entry #2238

Fully Rockin’

Honestly, I barely trust a soul. I only trust a few that I know are solid until they’re gone. Trust means you keep it one hundred, never make statements, and stay loyal. If you can’t do that, it means I can’t put trust in you.

 

A lot of people broke my trust. They perpetrated, acting gangster, and then turned their back on me and told on me. Now the DA gave me five years in this box. Ever since then, I could barely trust a soul unless I knew they were fully rockin.

 

I had to learn that everybody is not your brother, even if they are from the same “cloth.” Everybody switched up on me. They wrote hella crazy statements on my name so the judge thinks I’m a menace to society. She speaks on my family, saying my family is full of killers.

 

I wouldn’t trust those people, and I would be riding solo. It helped my mind open up to not trust everybody, only the ones who really step.

 

 

Entry #2239

My Right-Hand Man

The one person I trust is my dad because he is my right-hand man. He has always been there, even when we were struggling. He always managed to provide food, clothes, and even things I didn’t need, like name-brand clothes and Jordans. That’s something I really appreciate about him.

 

I have never lost my dad’s trust, and there has never been a reason for me not to trust him or his word. For me, I don’t think it’s hard to trust someone. It takes time, but once you lose my trust, it’s going to be hard to earn it back.

 

Yes, I have had my trust broken. One of my good friends said he would always have my back no matter what, but when it came down to it, he was nowhere to be found. That’s when I knew he was someone I couldn’t see myself kicking it with anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be cool with him again.

 

He tried to contact me, but I just looked at his message and didn’t say anything back. Now that I’m older, I know I can’t hold grudges against everyone who has done me wrong, but that doesn’t mean I will forgive them. I just keep it pushing.

 

Entry #2240

Trust and Regret

I trust my family. My family has always shown me respect, and when people show me respect, I can give them my trust. People who don’t show me respect don’t get my trust. I will still respect people even if they don’t respect me, but when they don’t respect me, I can’t trust them.

One lesson I have learned the hard way is from when I stole cars, and I regret every moment of that. Another thing I regret is when one of my best friends passed away when I was younger. We were running around, and they went somewhere they weren’t supposed to go and got shot and killed. I wish I could go back in time and tell them not to go near there, but I can’t physically do that because it’s not possible.

 

Entry #2241

Who Do You Trust?

I trust my brothers. Trust means having someone I can vent to or talk about private things with. It means I can trust them not to tell my information to anybody. They can earn my trust by being there for me when I need them, and by never sharing what I tell them.

 

I’m fighting a case, and the DEA is asking questions and trying to gain my trust, but I won’t tell them anything.

 

I had my trust broken when my homeboy told on me to the police and shared my secrets with other people. I trust my homies and my family because they are there when I need them, and what I tell them stays between us.

 

My trust has been broken a lot of times, so it’s hard to put my trust in just anybody. That’s why I only have a couple people who really have it.

 

Entry #2242

Things I Hate

1. Chicken
2. True love type beats
3. Hangnails
4. Reading a good book and the spine cracks and it’s all messed up
5. Modern rap
6. When people tag juvenile hall books
7. Sagging
8. Other kids
9. When my chocolate milk tastes like earwax
10. When my MP3 player dies when I’m listening to a song
11. Chocolate
12. People who sleep in jeans
13. People who are lactose intolerant
14. Non-complete card decks
15. People who don’t clean their bedding
16. People who don’t scrub in the shower
17. People who skip showers
18. People who wear the same clothes again and again
19. People who don’t change their underwear
20. People who don’t read books

 

Entry #2243

Hard 2 Trust

I wouldn’t say that I have trust in anybody, because even the closest people in your life—like your friends, family, and people you rock with—can, and sadly most of the time, stab you in the back. That’s why I don’t really get too close to people, because you really don’t know who is going to try to cliff you.

 

But a way you can earn my trust is to be loyal, or to have good morals and core values. Because if you show me all of that, I will do the same.

 

Entry #2244

Locked Down

Locked down all the time,
Tryna get out of my mind,
But I’m stuck thinking about my crime.

My mom said, “You need to be kind,”
But I’m stuck in the thug life.
I was fifteen when my crime gave me juvenile life.

I got six more years left, but I’m reminiscing about my mom, lil sis, and lil bro.

 

Entry #2245

My Story

In life, we all have different stories. Mine is one of broken families, lost families, and pieces of families trying to come together in different ways. I grew up in all of that and more. Sometimes it feels like you don’t have control over the way things form around you. Growing up, I had a lot of thoughts, but without proper guidance to show me right from wrong, I started living in my flaws, and eventually that started to feel normal.

 

The hardest part about growing up and staying young is that we are all held accountable, even when there are adults in our lives who should share some of that responsibility. My biggest lesson started early. From around age six, I was already dealing with abandonment and abuse, and those things followed me as I got older. From 6 to 16, I built habits and struggles I carried into age 17, and I’m still learning how to deal with and overcome them.

 

At a young age, I started to believe the hard way was easier. Maybe it was because that’s all I knew. But really, it wasn’t easier—it was just what I had access to when I was a broken, scared kid trying to feel like I had control when I didn’t. I’ve lost relationships, pushed people away, been forgotten, and lost hope in myself. I’ve made mistakes that affected the people around me more than I understood at the time.

 

Over time, I’ve realized you either stay stuck in those habits or you try to change even when it’s hard. I’m learning that no matter where you come from, there is still a way to grow into something better than what you were given. What I hope now is not just for myself, but for others younger than me—that they don’t have to learn everything the way I did. Life has been my biggest lesson, and I’ve learned it can either break you or push you to become someone different.

 

Entry #2246

My Dog

The only thing I trust is my dog because he doesn’t lie like everyone else. When I’m going through something, my dog is there for me.

Entry #2247

It Was Worth It

February 11th, 2026, was the day I was released from Juvenile Hall after committing a crime I know I’ll regret. I’ve wished things in my life happened differently, but everything happens for a reason. I made my choices. I was bullied and wanted to feel safe, and my life was going downhill fast. I didn’t ask for help when I should have, and I hurt my family. That was the old me.

Now I just got my first paycheck working for Parks and Recreation. They told me I did a really good job and want me on their team when I turn 18. I love being outside—it’s what I missed most while locked up.

I got a phone, but more importantly, I got my family back. That means everything. If you don’t have your family or believe in yourself, you don’t have much. I’ve seen people I know go back to juvenile hall over small decisions. Stay away from substance abuse—it’s not worth it.

Since getting out, I’ve been handling my emotions better and not lashing out over small things. I see people struggling, and I think about my dad. I love him, even with everything, and I want to keep that connection as long as I can.

I don’t have many friends, and I’ve always been antisocial, but I’m working on it. I’m starting to open up more. I believe there are opportunities out there for me, and I’m working hard to graduate early. I’ve made real progress.

A lot of my life was spent in a rough place, and that shaped me. It made things harder, but it doesn’t define me. I’ve been cutting out negative people and habits, and focusing on what I want: a better life.

Now, when I go to the park, I try to say hello to people. It might seem small, but it’s helping me change. Life isn’t always easy, and sometimes we don’t understand why things happen, but I know this: we can change. We can do better.

I believe everyone deserves a second chance. I’m grateful I got mine—and that I’m putting in the work to make it count.