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You may never understand my contradicting little life

I am the enigma of a law abiding convict in prison

All that I do, is because I want a chance to go home

You may never understand why I can’t live reckless

I deprive myself to avoid write-ups and confrontations

The cost to back down is high, but I want to go home

You may never understand why I call my cell “my home”

It’s been my home so long and the law says it is forever

I still want a chance to go to my real home and real bed

You may never understand why I panic wherever I’m sick

My fear of dying before I can taste freedom is very real to me

I want a chance to go home before I leave this mortal life.

You may never understand why I always live in the past

The law says I may never have a future outside of prison

I still hope for my chance to go home and have a real life

You may never understand why I hate the yearly calendar

Each day leads to nowhere, because there is no EPR date

But I still hope for a chance of a date for board and home

You may never understand why I always seem so far away

In a sea of thousands, I am very much alone and isolated

I want my chance to go home to my own friends and family

While lifers and short-termers see freedom over the horizon

I can only see an empty life and slow death in this prison cell

For me, the law says a pine box is my only chance home.

📬

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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