It was like life was a nightmare. At 13, I was the father of two small kids whom I loved dearly, and I had a mother who didn’t care for me after losing my father. It was tough for me because my father was my best friend, so I chose drugs and illegal activities to numb the pain and hurt to cope with what life threw at me.
I never was taught how to be a man, so I was clueless about who I was as a man. I lived a double life as a person who pretended to serve as the man of the family the best I could on one side and a manipulator, thief, and heartless on the other to survive. Life for me was chaotic, with serious problems that I didn’t understand because I was lost to the system from foster care to juvenile hall.
The pain and hurt caused me to act out how I felt because I didn’t know how to voice how I felt then. This caused me to make a very unrighteous decision on a warm night in July that almost cost me my life, though my freedom, family, and the love of my life were taken from me. This destroyed my character. I was booked and charged with 1st-degree murder in the Ashley County Jail in Hamburg, Arkansas, for wanting to help a friend who knew nothing but wrong. And that was eight years ago. In reflection, I was a good person.
Allah (God) is a living testimony by sharing my life experiences and spreading Allah’s word. Thinking about finding a strong, beautiful woman I can marry, love, and be happy with without being faulted for my mistakes keeps me awake at night. Now, I understand love, which means overcoming obstacles, facing challenges, fighting to be together, holding on, and never letting go. It is the balance of pain, happiness, and peace that needs equality. It’s something that’s gradually developed between two people who respect, understand, and appreciate each other.
Love is work, but most of all, love is realizing that every hour, every minute, and every second is worth it because you can do it together. I came to this understanding due to my family not being there for me as I’m incarcerated, which opens old scares. I yearn to see my family and friends who care. Because as my favorite poet, Maya Angelou, says, “People will forget what you say, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
So, I thank two of my loyal, wise Muslim brothers, M. Smith and Q. Alim, who strive daily with me. I love you guys. Without these guys, I wouldn’t have been able to voice my life struggles.
I’m ending with a poem called “Ghetto Boy Standard.”
‘Who’ll cry for the Ghetto boy – the lil Ghetto boy
That never had the chance to grow?
Maybe you can’t – perhaps no one will love – feel –
Or cry for the Ghetto boy that’s trapped inside my spirit –
Don’t sweat it, lil’ Ghetto boy – I’ll cry for you –
I’ll just do it in silence, so no one can hear it.”
Or cry for the Ghetto boy that’s trapped inside my spirit –
Don’t sweat it, lil’ Ghetto boy – I’ll cry for you –
I’ll just do it in silence, so no one can hear it.”
