I can do no wrong
In the eyes of a guy that takes lives
But live his life as a lie
And they wonder why
After all I have done
I wait at the end of it all to cry
But when I told them to leave me alone
They didn’t understand
At the time I was put out at 12
I was considered grown
And months later I confused Youth Services Center* as my new home
But they talked about me and laughed instead
So I held anger for years
And couldn’t control the urge
To react with violence
Even though I was really scared
I developed an attitude which has led me where I am: in jail
And they don’t know how it hurts to be real
So sometimes I wonder why I am not dead
Every night, I sit in my cell and think
Is it reality or am I tripping?
Because I can hear the walls talking to me
And I wonder, should I continue to listen?
In a strange way it feels good
Even though I know the Devil is on a mission
But God is not quitting
So there’s two voices I am hearing
So am I brave for admitting that I am afraid
But do not know what I am afraid of?
Or should I just hate the feeling
That feels good to love
*DC’s juvenile detention facility
The poets featured here are currently incarcerated, and many of them are in federal prisons far from home. Your feedback is a valuable source of motivation and connection to the outside community. Post your comments, feedback, and encouragement in the space below the poem. Messages will be passed on directly to the author. Comments may not appear immediately on the site, as our team processes them to mail to the poets.