Entry #2163

Better Times                                                

The countdown echoes off the cinder block, A hollow sound where midnight meets my tray. Beyond these bars, the world uncurls, while here, the shadows settle in to stay.

 

I leave behind my ghostly past — The reckless pulse, they say was bad. The boy who thought the fire was a friend, Before the embers drowned beneath his hand.

 

I leave the names of streets that knew my feet, The summer air that taste of heat, The faces of the ones I didn’t mean to hurt, back when I thought my life was cursed.

 

But as the calendar turns over cold, I shed the skin of who I use to know. I leave the "whys" and "ifs" within, to make some room for something thin.

 

For though the gate is locked, the mind is wide, and pen on paper carves something high. The sentence is for life, the judge has said— But how I live it remains unsaid.

 

Entry #2164

Still Standing

I am from zombies, overdoses, and drug addicts
From pom poms and halftime shows
From a house filled with arguments that rattle walls

 

I am from Barbies and princesses
From fighting and anger
From depression and pain

 

I am from my older sister doing my hair
From watching physical abuse
I am from giggles with my cousin when we should be asleep

 

I am from a **** up father that doesn’t know how to treat his daughter
From trips to the corner market
From attachment issues
From the endless love of my mama

 

I am from skipping class, broken bottles, and alcoholics
I am from hidden tears on my blanket
From my father choking me
From rape

 

I am from an eating disorder
From changing my life

 

This is where I am from

 

Entry #2165

Stuck

Before, I was homeless, sleeping on the ground. On park benches. Sometimes I never slept. I would walk the streets alone, looking for whatever I could. I stole. Lied. Cheated. Did drugs like meth. I thought this life was fun until I couldn’t breathe or even walk ten feet without coughing my lungs up and collapsing to the ground.

I thought it was fun and cool until I was alone and cold and numb. I had nothing. I was dying with meth in my lungs and holes in my arms. I had no one. The people around me left me for dead.

But after, I could feel emotions. Think clearly. Start to realize what I’ve done and what I’ve been through. I realized there’s no going back. I realized there’s no fixing what has already been done. I feel nothing but guilt and remorse. The stuff I’ve done to myself is unbelievable.

But for some reason, I have this desire to go back to “before” and use again, knowing it will kill me. For whatever reason, I just don’t care. I will do anything to get out and do the same **** as before. I sometimes think there’s something really wrong with me—and there is. I have an incurable disease. I’m stuck in addiction, with no desire to quit.

                  

                                 

Entry #2166

Home

When I was younger, I was always in a bad mindset. Some type of dark would take over my light… and just like that, I’m blind—scared I’d let the dark cover me like a blanket my daddy would tuck me in with at night.

I’d yell and cry from my bed saying, “I want to go home,” or better yet, “I just want to be dead.” I would cry for home until my throat was raw, lungs filled with air, parts of me burning from touches too young to feel. Daddy asked what I meant—“This is your home.” He was my home.

I never understood it because he was right—he was all I had until mommy dearest came rolling in on some cloud. I thought I was saved until I saw the smoke, thick and sticky. The dragon she caught was never tamed. It controlled her, took over her brain. It was the one to blame for my scars and broken heart.

One day, I caught myself screaming again, “I wanna go home.” While the dragon was in control, she grabbed me by my hair and said, “I am your home, little girl.” Little girl I was—afraid, with a small voice, scratchy and raw—I stopped screaming for home. I lost my sense, confused, never understanding why I wanted home.

That is where I laid until I met him. I found my peace, stopped asking for home, and once I realized why I never let go, I knew who he was. Forever my home.

Entry #2167

I Used to Call You Dad

Did it make you feel good knowing you had an eleven-year-old girl screaming and crying underneath you? You stripped me bare of my happiness. Did it make you happy knowing I would keep it a secret because I wanted you to love me?

You’re the reason I turned to substances. I got my alcohol addiction from you. Did you ever feel guilty? Did you know I admired you—until you did that—even though you would beat me?

I still have nightmares about that night. Why can’t you leave me alone? I get attached to anyone who shows me even a little love.

Can you believe I used to call you dad?

 

Entry #2168

Forever Missed

Cupid’s tears drown me in his sorrow as I mourn the loss of the children around me. The sound of sirens fill my ears until the angels’ weeping competes with the sound of death. Blood splatters around my feet as I fall to my knees, begging the sky that the first person here saves them.

The click of the guns replay over and over until I’m frozen in fear, like a glacier in the Arctic. I feel paralyzed as the screams and shouts of people push me to my feet. Walking feels forced, my legs like jello as I run for help.

The stretchers take the kids who were once so full of life and glowing smiles, now frozen in time as their innocence has been stripped from their minds, as well as from the others around them. An action that took one second to achieve has now taken a future away—like a hunter and a fawn, shivering in the dark, quiet, tall grass.

The grief turns to an uncontrollable rage as I talk to the ugly officer, questioning everyone. The world feels like it’s come to a halt as I scream for the one with the rotten teeth to do something—it’s too late now. The line is flat. I’m filled with fury as they haul away the boy who just wanted to feel loved in the back of an ambulance. His beautiful soul, forever 16 now.

I’ll miss you.
Long Live Romann, 2008–2025

Entry #2169

Growing Up

Growing up, I’d hide around the corner in secret, watching my parents chase this invisible dragon—catch it, tame it, then devour it whole. I swore up and down I’d never tame a monster of my own… until the demons crept up on me and swallowed my soul.

I started to find comfort in the rush, loving it more than human affection, spreading from my brain to my heart like a disease or an infection. As I lost all control, I sat on my bed waiting for death and thought to myself, You’re better than this. What happened?

I slept, and my monster died of hunger—the drugs wore off. The voices were clear. If I don’t stop, the end is truly near. It took me a while, but I found the difference between love and lust. What I felt for that pretty snow was a curse of lust, when all I really craved was someone’s touch.

Of course I miss my monster. We all grow comfortable with vices that kill us while turning a blind eye. Except I am no longer blind. I can see how my monster treated me, because now I’m set free—learning real love, not just the love my parents showed from the flame creeping out of their dragon’s throat.

Entry #2170

A Little Bit Human

Dear Self,

I wish you would understand the pain I’ve endured over the years. I made a lot of mistakes, but it’s okay—we all have mishaps in this world. We’re not perfect. The pain I’ve had to deal with can’t be measured, and I don’t always know why. The problems I’ve faced didn’t involve kind people; they involved hurt—people who wanted to take me down, people who expected so much from me, mostly effort. I still don’t fully understand this other person inside of me, but I’m guessing he wants change. A real change in my life.

A change where I put my old life behind me and start fresh. Where I look forward to a new path, a new open door, and a better life for myself—at least one where I can do better. The mistakes I’ve made over the years don’t define who I am, and this year I’m going to try my best to do whatever it takes to get my life back on track. I’m going to continue to write—write whatever my heart desires—because people who hate don’t see why I’m always mad. Is it my fault? Am I my worst enemy? The one who made bad decisions and ended up incarcerated?

Am I insane? Am I a bad person for making mistakes, or am I just a little bit human? I still don’t know. Why was I in that state of mind? Why did I make all those choices? I want to apologize—to the people I’ve hurt, to society, to my family, and also to myself. I mean, come on now.

My life was hard—really hard—but I don’t deserve to live in this so-called hell we’ve found ourselves in. I’ve learned how to adapt to situations and cope with my feelings, but sometimes I still ask myself: what do they want from me? Please tell me I’m okay. I need help. Someone please save me from hurting myself more than I already have. Someone please see the bigger picture.

My whole life I’ve been harassed, and I don’t really feel safe. Even being locked up, I feel like I’ve damaged myself to the point where I can’t fix what’s broken—and sometimes I don’t think anyone else can either. But I can try to make the best of every day, and I can hope for the best. Even if I do get out in February, I don’t know where to go. I might move to another city. I might go to another school. I might get a job and a one-bedroom apartment. I’m still thinking.

My New Year’s resolution is to try to graduate a year early and get a job that I actually want. I hope I can better myself this year. I’m tired of beating myself up for my mistakes and for hurting the people I love most, especially my family. I don’t know where I want to be in five years, but at least now I’m thinking about it—something I never really did on the outs.

I’m tired of not giving myself credit. I know my life will be better if I continue to think before I react. I feel bad for the mistakes I’ve made, but I have to keep my head up and keep doing better. If I want people to trust me again, I have to make major changes. I hope I can continue to get the help I truly need. I’m tired of getting messed with, and I don’t see the point in messing with others just for fun. It hurts to see people suffering in this world. I just hope I can make a major change in my life.

Entry #2171

Looking Back, Moving Forward

Before, after—I took a step back and looked at life from a different perspective, and I realized a lot. Life is not all about smoking, drinking, and running around with your boys. Sometimes you gotta look for more for yourself than just keep running down that path. Sometimes I wish I could have a redo of my days, or even years—but you can’t, as y’all know. I wonder what life would be like if I never took that first hit, never sipped that first bottle, never clutched that first weapon. This life is tricky—always looking over your back on your way home, or even just to get a soda from the corner store. I used to think I could never get out of this life. Sometimes I still feel that way. I just want to see 21. I want to see my family proud of me instead of watching them cry in court or during visits. The weight of seeing those tears drop makes me sick. Or hearing on the phone, “I just want you home—it’s been so hard,” and knowing you can’t go home and be there for them. Then there’s hearing how much my friends—who aren’t in this life—miss me. How they wish I was still the old me. Shout out to the ones who stuck by my side. That’s what keeps me pushing. I just hope I can make y’all happy and proud—your grandson, nephew, homie, cousin. You’re my everything. Y’all know who you are. So my plan for after I get out is to show y’all I can do it. I pray deep down He gives me the courage. I love my people and I want to be there for y’all, so I’m going to start trying more.

Watch me change
Watch me win
Watch my favorite people smile again
Watch me graduate high school
Watch me get my dream job
Watch me succeed

I will do it.

Entry #2172

Still Showing Up

I write this from a place in my mind that feels more cell-like than any bricks that have ever confined me. After my release, I did a lot for myself. I felt like I did everything right too. I never broke curfew, I showed up to all my court dates and probationary meetings, I got off ankle really fast, and was off probation in no time.

 

But I still found myself in the same places doing the same ****, hanging around the same people that got me locked up in the first place. And I hid it all. From every adult and every voice of reason, I hid it. I knew that wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it was so easy to fall right back in that groove, even with all the right people and all the love and support I had. I was struggling so badly with my mental health, and I made that my excuse.

 

I turned it around though, because I saw where all my friends were going and I knew where I wanted to be. And I didn’t want to go back to a cell in a pod full of traumatized, angry kids. I won't lie though, my boyfriend was a big part of it too. He wanted good things for me, and I wanted to be good for him, so I made it happen. Even now, I recognize that he was my real voice of reason. He wasn't just my boyfriend, he was my best friend; someone I knew I wanted in my life forever regardless of the circumstance. Having someone who loved me on a different level, and that also wanted me to do good, helped more than anything.

 

I got sober again. Like real sober, not California sober. Not even a lil’ drink here and there or a puff bar. That was a hard choice for me, but I knew I had to stop everything altogether. I stopped talking to all the people I used to hang out with who didn't want the same things in life I did. I deleted Instagram and focused on me and my boyfriend. I graduated, and I got my first job. Not under the table, not plugin, a real job. I tried new things and put myself into new spaces. I pushed my comfort zone to grow. I asked for help even when I really, really didn’t want to. I even started taking medication for my mental health. And as much as I hate to admit it, it helped.

 

I went through so much, but everything I built for myself kept me going. And life 180’d again for me, but far worse than I ever could have imagined. I lost a lot of people I loved. I had to part ways with my boyfriend, which was unimaginably hard. I had an unhealthy attachment to him. And even though he wanted good things for me, he stopped wanting good things for himself, and he started treating me in ways I did not deserve. That was so hard for me because he wasn't just my boyfriend, he was my best friend, my biggest support, my motivation to keep going even when I felt like I couldn't. And I never let go of that, even with the distance. We still talked a lot. We both knew we needed time apart to be better for each other.

 

I was going through a lot. I started smoking and drinking a bit, but ended up quitting again. I really struggled to find connections that were good for me. I still do, even now.

 

Then my psychiatrist doubled my medication, and I had a reaction no one could have prepared me for. One panic attack turned into something so much worse. I had to stop working and driving. I couldn't go to the classes I busted my **** to make possible for myself. In just a few days, I watched myself turn into a different person entirely. I felt like a passenger in my own body, like I didn't even have myself anymore. I really felt like I ruined myself, and I still feel like that a lot. Things got better though, and I was making steady progress toward going back to doing all of the things I love. I was just starting to see that light at the end of the tunnel.

 

Then I woke up and I got that call. My best friend died. More than just my best friend actually, even with the distance between us. Grieving him is strange. Grief in general is. I've lost a lot of people in my short little lifetime, but this is a whole different type of hurt. I never thought my mental health could affect my physical health so much. I regret a lot of things, and there's a lot I would change. But I wouldn't change him. I mostly just wish that I had more gratitude for the good parts. Even when it was hard and I felt every which way but grateful, I really should have been more grateful. Because it can get worse.

Right now, I'm trying to remind myself to cherish the time I do get to share with the people I love, and to just have more gratitude even when it's really hard. But I think my biggest takeaway is that I really only have myself, so I gotta keep showing up for myself. Because that's what he would have wanted.

 

Entry #2173

Before / After

I used to be the “quiet kid,”
the one who always hid.
I would always keep to myself—
but I would take the drugs off the shelf.

Now, when I’m stuck in my cell,
the only thing I can think about
is if I’m going to hell.
Now I just tuck away behind this shell.

Entry #2174

Air

Suddenly, there are moments that come up and leave me drained of the air that fills my lungs. Sitting inside, so close to air yet so far from that gasp to make me feel okay. Air—what feels like that adventurous uplift that pulls you out of bed in the mornings. All of a sudden, all that makes motivation is a new air called “weed.”

I used to want to go to school. I used to want to get up for work… now, before that one puff to make all thoughts go away, I feel bodyless, numb to reality, as if nothing will change, reality standing still. Of course I have to get up, but what happens when that high wears off? Body back to that numb feeling, thoughts spinning, and reality shifting.

I used to think my life was bound for nothing. For example, a wave crashing into the beach just to flow away or disappear… fire burning, what’s left igniting every time I get out of bed. Truth is, it took one thing to change everything in my perspective to faith: incarceration. Getting pulled out of the environment that I had lived in for years was the rollercoaster feeling that changed my perception of my life.

In the blank reality, I enjoyed becoming my very temptation that I feared. I began to have no weed, alcohol, or those drugs I would abuse.

“What changed?” I thought to myself. Matters that had never been in my sights before—the very opportunities I would deny outside these cinderblock walls—changed who I was. A part of me became alive again… I wanted life. I had goals and dreams I had forgotten. I never would’ve thought love, care, humanity, and respect mattered so much—but that’s what was wrong, what was missing in my life. I wanted to live for myself again.

In the end, I will not smoke weed again, because suddenly air became the breath of steps that I would take to change my life again. What I, myself, thought I gained by weed, I now have gained in clarity—in my head and in my chest. I had love to give that I once didn’t.

Entry #2175

Becoming a Father

Before, I was stressed about how my life was going to turn out. I was constantly told I was going to do serious time. While I was in here, I found out I was going to be a father, and every day I thought about how badly I had messed up. I fought my case for months, and when I finally got sentenced, they wanted to give me four years.

My lawyer pushed through and got me a deal I didn’t think was possible. I got away with doing less time than I deserved, and now I’ll be home to help raise my baby while they’re still young. When I get out, I’m going to do it right.

I know I’m lucky. I thank God for answering my prayers. I made mistakes I can’t change, but I can move forward—and this time, I’ll make better choices.

Entry #2176

My Life

My life was what I would say extravagant. It was fun, exciting, and unpredictable. I was partying, running amok, doing the average teenage things. I was living young, wild, and free. That was the happiest time in my life, but everything changed within a day—I got locked up.

Now I am getting told when I go to sleep and eat. I have absolutely no freedom. Even after several months locked down, I still have no release date. Having no release date affects me the most, knowing I could be in here a year or more. Without a release date, every day feels like a loop. The only thing that sets each day apart is different types of meals.

I always regret the decisions I made in the outside world, wishing I could go back and change my actions. Sometimes I imagine my future sitting in a prison cell because they’re trying to charge me as an adult. Before, I saw myself as a tattoo artist. But each and every day I lose hope as my court date approaches. Being gone for so long with barely any court dates makes me feel like I am never getting out—or that being locked up for a long time is inevitable and nothing good will come my way. So I just feel like I’m going to fail no matter what.

Entry #2177

As the New Year Begins

When I get out, I want to change my life around and get off probation, as well as get a job and make money. As I get my life together, I want to buy my mom a house and a car. All I want to do in life is show people I can be a better person and show my mom that I can be successful.

Someday, one job I’d like to do is construction and building houses. I hope to build my own house and buy my own car, but that is not my goal for this year. My main goal is to get off probation and show other people that I can be a way better person.

I want to set an example for my little cousins, that they can do anything in life that they put their mind to, just like me. My mindset this year is to do good. I also want to show my dad that he taught me to be a better man.

One more goal I have this year is to get out, build my own car, get my driver’s license, and drive down to my cousin’s house to show them they can accomplish anything. I’m here—28 more days to go—and I am hoping I get out. When I do, I am going to stay out of trouble and away from weed. I am going to get my life together, and that is my main goal this year.

Entry #2178

A Restart

I want to do better—for myself, my sister, and my mom. I want to get back into sports and focus on my academics so I can improve in school. I want to go somewhere with my life. One thing I’m really interested in is becoming a welder. I like the idea of working with my hands, doing cool projects, and creating something new.

I’ve been arrested three or four times before, but I was released each time—except for the last two. This time, I’ll be here for a while. I’m hoping to fight one of my four charges and get it dropped, but that means staying longer to make it happen.

There are good and bad things about being here. In some ways, it feels like a restart. I’ve been able to step back and really think about what I want to change in my life. I’m back in school and working on catching up on credits. At the same time, I miss being out—seeing my little sister and hanging out with my friends.

I know I put myself here, so now I have to do the time. What matters is what I do with it.

Entry #2179

This Year

This year
Forget about the pain
Forget about the shame
Forget about the fame
Forget about the rain

Remember the trees
Remember the bees
Remember the peace
Remember when you were free

Now that’s the new me
The one who opened his eyes to see—
the one with all of the creativity
who can oversee all of his dreams

Entry #2180

The Land

Native Americans were treated differently—they said we were savages, all we did was hurt people, but really, we were all hurt. People from somewhere else took over our crops and land. That’s probably why we had to kill a lot of men. They gave us diseases, tried to wipe us all out, but we’re survivors still running around.

This is for everyone that has Native running in their blood. We might have come from the mud, but one day we will all be very rich. The police treat me like an animal because of my race. I hope my family lives forever—yes, I pray. I rock with the ones I love and they labeled us a “gang”—to be honest, that **** is very strange.

They can call me a ******* ******; it does not hurt my soul. I’m a young Native and my name is anonymous. I will never leave this place because it is my home.

Entry #2181

Gang Life

A change I want to make in my life is getting out of politics. It was cool and ****, but some people don’t care. You can get shot for throwing up the wrong gang sign. But I’m not tweaking on that—I’ll throw up ***** until I die.

But I gotta think about how it affects the people around me, like my girlfriend, mom, brothers, and family. I don’t want them to get shot or hurt in any way, and some people go after your family if they can’t find you.

Entry #2182

Dear Me

It’s finally your year. Big 18. People say it’s just another day, but isn’t it the day you start to take full responsibility for your actions? And isn’t it the day you become the one thing you hate the most… an adult?

Now you’re noticing everything you’ve learned or been through that prepared you for this stage in your life. You start to realize that adults really did care about you and wanted you to go somewhere in life. Because now, you’re on your own—an adult. For some of us, that means no help.

But now it’s your turn to become a young, independent, and smart person. At the end of the day, you’ll realize you’re not always going to feel like an adult, but you are. And when push comes to shove, you better act like one. If not, it’s jail time, and you’re going to be labeled a failure.

I don’t know how to feel. All I know is I wish there was a rule book for this adult ****.

Entry #2183

Cutting the Strings

Everyone has an agenda. So why obey and listen to what they have to say? Being older and an adult doesn’t mean someone is right. Having your name in a fancy font on a piece of paper really just means, hey, this guy is good at obeying directives. Is that really the goal? Hey, if you want to fall into line, work until you’re 60–80, retire, and then “enjoy” the last decade of your life, by all means, go for it. While you’re bedbound with your 401K, there will be a 60–80-year-old who created generational wealth. You might say, “Oh, good for that person, it must have been luck.” If working a 9–5 for the rest of your life defines success for you, then by all means, believe that. Hey, as a matter of fact, come work for me. You’re clearly a good listener—nice little ant. You’ll get $15 an hour, I’ll get my use out of you. So what are we going to do about it? Are we just going to move on, forget about it, and go back to being good listeners? We’re all puppets. Do we cut the strings, or continue being controlled?