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…
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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
- Chicken
- True love type beats
- Hangnails
- Reading a good book and the spine cracks and it’s all
messed up
- Modern rap
- When people tag juvenile hall books
- Sagging
- Other kids
- When my chocolate milk tastes like earwax
- When my MP3 player dies when I’m listening to a song
- Chocolate
- People who sleep in jeans
- People who are lactose intolerant
- Non-complete card decks
- People who don’t clean their bedding
- People who don’t scrub in the shower
- People who skip showers
- People who wear the same clothes again and again
- People who don’t change their underwear
- 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.
