Seized by time, I am locked inside four concrete walls, hidden behind a red steel door, fed through a flap as I scrape together memories of a place I don’t recognize anymore.
I haven’t had a hug in years. I feel so alone in here. But my rain is pain in the ocean, so I might as well keep my eyes clear, because nobody gives a fuck about a thug and his tears. People say they miss me. I laugh, “Go ahead and lie some more.” They say misery loves company, so why, when I cry, do I cry alone? People keep telling me that one day I’ll go to a place called home. But I’ve spent so long withering away, day by day, trapped by the hourglass, wondering was this always part of my destiny?
I watched silently as my oldest sister, Bae, angrily packed up after arguing with our mom. We were homeless and staying with my mom’s friend. I remember anxiously wondering where she and my 7 year-old niece would go. She sat on her bed crying and said, “With Mike, I guess,” referring to daughters father. Immediately, my mind went dark. I could see the times that man had beaten her, blacked her eyes, scarred her face.
She must have seen the horror and disapproval on my face. Her next words, though I’m sure she didn’t mean for them to hurt, struck deep in my chest. She said, “Dre, can you provide for me and Mkerah like Mike can?” I couldn’t. And because of that, among other things, I felt less than what a man is supposed to be.
I’m not trying to justify what I did on April 6, 2019. What I did was dead wrong, irrevocably wrong. What I’m striving to do is help people understand. I was in pain, angry about my family situation, and desperate to make something happen that would change everything. It was supposed to be one big move that made all my problems go away. I didn’t intend for anybody to be killed, for me to take something that couldn’t be replaced. Fast forward, and you’ll find a young man who has grown up behind these walls. I’ve learned, matured, and changed. I know I can never make up for what I’ve done, but I hope to be seen not as that 17-year-old kid, but as the man I am today.
I care about you. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have read your poem along with several others. May your Thanksgiving be filled with love, blessings and joy. You’re going to be okay. There’s nothing you can do to change how much God/Jesus Christ loves you. Stay focused, grow where you’re planted. Trust in the Lord. He will lead, guide and direct you. You can live in freedom, trust him as your Lord and Savior…One Truth, One Lord!