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When they say that I can’t, I know that I can. 

 

“The Intro”

My life is so real, I swear it’s nothing I just came up with last night.

Do you know what it’s like for the judge to crack the gavel on you and then give you life?!  

Without any compassion—I was only 15—not that I’m asking,  

Nor trying to minimize the severity of the crimes I know it was tragic.  

 

Can you imagine walkin’ in my shoes? You think you know, but you have no clue.  

You might lose your head if you saw all the shhh I’ve been through.  

I tried to holla, but you didn’t holla back,  

Family tree broken, extend the olive branch.  

What is the point of planting seeds if you don’t help them grow? 

I don’t feel any of that.  

 

How do you rebuild if you never crash?  

How would you know if you never ask?  

How can you win if you never take a chance?  

How do you face fears without even taking a glance?  

 

I came in as a kid, but now I’m a man.  

I used to be lost, but now I have plans.  

When they say that I can’t, I know that I can.  

The universe spoke—it was part of the plan.  

 

So even when life stinks, I’d rather smell it.  

How do you want me to win and love when I’m failing?  

No leaf in the wind, I know where I’m headed.  

When you become fruitful, they aim for your melon.

📬

These stories arrive by mail.

Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.

Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.

📬 Join the Mail Club

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