Writing Exchange III

Writing Exchange III
Fresno County and Butte County Juvenile Halls
July 11, 2008

Journal # 26
If you really knew me, you would know that four days ago, I hit rock bottom. I wanted to die. I was out of the hall for about nine months. That is the longest I have ever stayed out. Once I started using, my sober and sane world came crashing down around me. My family pushed me away because of the drugs, so I ran.
I took all my money and belongings and split. I spent over $500 in two weeks and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital with an IV in my arm. Well, I ripped it out and ran out of the hospital, knowing the cops would be coming to speak with me. As I was running, I spotted my picture on a telephone pole. It read:
WANTED
BY A DAD WHO STILL LOVES HIM
Right then and there I broke down and started to cry and scream. I’ve had enough. I called my pops and he picked me up. At this point, I wished I died in that hospital bed. My dad said he loved me and we were going to get through it together.
The next day I turned myself in to the hall. Right before I walked into incarceration, my dad gave me a book: Writing Exchange II. I read it the first night and it made me feel like I wasn’t alone. There are others out there like me. Now, what a coincidence: I’m adding my story to a potential next book. I hope this helps someone that way it helped me.

Journal # 27
I’m about to be sixteen years old and I’m fighting the battle of change. I feel like it’s me against the world. I’m fighting my addiction to drugs and my addiction to gang banging.
I sit here in juvenile hall with twenty-nine different girls and hold my composure every day. I face the complications of change, the struggles of an addict, the thoughts of a criminal and the burden from being a girl who’s inflicted so much pain on her family. This is not a second chance, this is MY last chance. I want to change so bad, I can feel it, literally.
My boyfriend, who is an important part of my life right now, is in the same program as me and my biggest fear is that my changing is going to tear us apart. I hope he wants change too. Drugs and gang banging are a major setback in life and if I continue, I won’t live to see eighteen. So really, my choice to change is a choice between life and death. I choose to live.

Journal # 28
I remember that day, that night I was there.
I remember the cars lined up the street, when I learned I had to say good-bye.
I lost a brother and a mother lost her son, a friend lost a friend.
I remember seeing his eyes right before he died.
Everything went dark when Death’s hands hit 12:00.
I remember when he got hit.
It was like a bunch of fire works were just lit.
I did not run I just stood there.
Thanks to God, I didn’t get hit.
I remember we took him to the hospital, but they said it was just too late.
I remember what I did that almost cost me my life.
I remember I got stabbed.
But I can’t tell you the rest, because the time is just not right.
Now I’m locked up with nowhere to go, nowhere to run.
I remember I just wanted to get high one more time, before I saw the light.
But I came back to reality and my mother was nowhere in sight.

Journal #29
Life is a strange thing. Mine was pretty messed up when I was little. My dad was never there and my mom was always on drugs, but at least I had my grandparents. Everything positive, came from them.
I remember when I was three years old, waking up early with my mom still asleep. She had a candle lit to cover the smell of dope. I grabbed it next to the corner chair. I caught the chair on fire. When my mom woke up, she yelled quite a bit. I felt so bad.
I remember being seven and calling my dad to see if I could go and see him. He said, “Ya,” so I went over to his place. I waited for hours and hours. He never showed up. I called my grandmother and cried to her, telling her my dad never came. She came right over and got me, apologizing.
In the end, I have no room to talk. I did drugs too. The one thing I won’t do is avoid my son or do drugs around him. He is the most beautiful thing in the world. I won’t be like them. I can’t be like them. I refuse!
I am lucky to have my grandparents. They have always been there for me no matter how much trouble I get in and they have helped with my beautiful baby boy. If they were to go, I would not know what to do. I love them with all of my heart.

Journal #30
I remember when I was young I had dreams,
But as I grew up I started to B-A-N-G.
I remember through it all I still had some good,
But at the same time I was still in the hood.
I remember when I got my first gun charge,
I was only eleven thinking I was hard.
I remember when I beat those three years,
Like forget going to trial.
They gave me my time in the hall,
So I took it and smiled.
I remember thinking I’m a soldier baby,
I’ll sit down on mine.
Told the staff in a few months,
I’ll see the sunshine.
I remember in the back of my mind,
I felt bad.
I didn’t want anyone to see me,
Walking the same path as my dad.
I remember being a role model to all of my younger cousins.
Now they look at me different and say I’m just trouble.
But I realize in this game,
I can’t fumble.
So I’m going to get myself together on the double!

Journal #31
When you are locked up you are really faced with a lot of problems like just following instructions and paying attention. But when you get out that’s when the real struggle begins. When you get out you are faced with drugs, alcohol and thousands of reasons to violate probation. It is up to me to decide to mess up or not. It is not going to be easy to do right, but if I don’t do it how will I know how it feels. I already know that doing bad can make you feel good. So when I get out I am going to do good because I am tired of just feeling good, it’s about time to feel better and the only way to do that is to do what’s right.

Journal # 32
Memory brings happiness, but also brings hurt.
I remember being left as I slept in the dirt.
All these dumb things that I brought on myself,
Like drinking and smoking and messing up my health.
Disrespect came along with all of this.
I hurt my family, and I know I wasn’t missed.
Kicked out, dropped out, and never went back.
I remember seeing my clothes in my black backpack.
I hate that.
That’s why I don’t want to think.
I recall being in an alley on Christmas Day with a drink,
Messed up, screwed up, and drunk on my ass.
Crying when I thought I saw my mom’s car pass.
I think at last, maybe I should’ve done right.
Then I sneak in my old lady’s window for the night.
Pale and white, disfigured inside.
I want to fix myself, and I don’t.
And I don’t know why.


Journal #33
If you really knew me you would know that when I was 10 years old I saw my dad shoot up. If you really knew me you would know that it wasn’t uncommon to see my dad hit my mom. If you really knew me, you would know I was beat on, all of those ten years. If you really knew me you would know that I took care of my brother until he was old enough to do some of the things on his own.

Journal #34
This is the story of my Asian life…my sister was seventeen. My parents were separated…as for myself; I was an eight year old girl. I really did not have a clue what my family was going through until that horrible, cold January night. How could I have a clue? I mean, I was only eight years old. All I cared about was my after school snack, the cartoons on television and trying to stay up later than eight-thirty on school nights.
I remember that night like it was only milliseconds ago. My mother had asked me to carry the towels upstairs to the linen closet. After I moaned, groaned and procrastinated for about ten minutes, I finally agreed. I remember trying to peer over the towels to make my way up the steep stairs safely. When I got to the closet, which just happens to be next to my sister’s room, I heard her crying. Being the most concerned third-grader I could be, I opened the door a little bit wider and I asked, “Shelly, what’s wrong?” She just looked at my confused expression and then asked me to give her a hug. I was pretty much into the charade of showing that you hated your siblings, so I refused her request. She persisted and asked me once more. My shaky response was, “Why?” Shelly explained to me that she had just swallowed an entire bottle of over-the-counter pills.
I was not exactly sure at that point in time if this was a dangerous move on her part. But, I realized it must have been pretty serious. I ran down the stairs to my mother, crying the whole way. I told her exactly, word for word, what Shelly had just explained to me. My mother raced up the stairs two at a time. She burst into my sister’s room and she begged Shelly to get out of bed and to tell her what happened. Shelly refused to tell my mom anything. My mom forced her out of bed, told her to get dressed and they hurried to the hospital.
My neighbor came over and I cried myself to sleep. All I remember after that is waking up and my neighbor was still there. I learned that Shelly was going to be all right after she had gotten her stomach pumped and especially after she had spent the next three months of her senior grade year in rehabilitation center for adolescents.
I never knew exactly why she had attempted suicide and I never want to ask her, but, I do know that life is our most precious gift and I will never again pretend that I do not love my sister. I am happy till this day that I still have her and that she moved on with her life and got married at the age of twenty-three. I learned to stay strong no matter what happens or what’s in front of me. This is the life of being Asian and is the hardest thing for me.

Journal # 35
One day I was at my dad’s house in Chowchilla. It was me, my oldest sister and my two nieces. We were leaving that morning to go home. My sister and my nieces had gotten up early and were getting ready to leave. I was still asleep. My other sister called my oldest sister and told her to take me home too, so I woke up and got ready.
My sister was driving as we started home. We had just left Chowchilla with my sister, my nieces and me in the car. My sister had a seizer; I tried not to panic. I got a hold of the steering wheel and pulled the car to the side of the road. Fortunately, the next thing I realize is there is a highway patrol man coming down the street. I waved him down and he pulled up. I told him what had happened and he said I was a hero.

Journal # 36
If you really knew me you would know that I never used to get in trouble. If you really knew me you would know I never used to claim. If you really knew me you would know I used to hate cigarettes. If you really knew me you would know I never used to drink. If you really knew me you would know I didn’t want to rob people on a bike trail to make money. If you really knew me you would know that I used to love to have a good time riding BMX bikes instead of getting high. If you really knew me you would know that I wish I never would have moved on the block where I live. If you really knew me you would know that I hated having to go to my community school so I gave the teachers hell. Even the one I am writing for today. My second year at the community school I got involved in the writing exchange. I became calmer and closer to the teachers. I hated it when I found out our school was closing. If you really knew me you would know I only told one girl in my life that I love her. If you really knew me you would know I still love her and want her back. If you really knew me you would know I became closer to my sister and cousin and now consider them both sisters. If you really knew me you would know I am extremely proud of who I am. If you really knew me you would love me and know that I wish I could be the person I used to be.

Journal #37
I remember my first charge; I still think it’s hard.
I remember on August 4, 2007 when I first got my visit.
I remember blanking out that my brother had died.
I always thought it was a lie.
I remember I said I want to die.
I remember doing meth, I never went to bed.
I remember my mom getting hit by my dad,
Till this day I still think it’s bad.
I remember doing time,
I remember I tried to get a dime.
I always knew people lie.
Now I’m sitting here doing time, or just trying to commit suicide.
I always thought life’s a joke.
I always stayed low.
I want my brother to come back,
But now I know he can’t do that.
I remember getting angry,
But I was always angry.


Journal #38
If you really knew me,
You would know what I feel every day; the hate and pain.
If you really knew me,
You would know I never went home because when I did I was stuck watching thirty different kids.
If you really knew me,
You would know I was raped and in a scary place.
If you really knew me,
You would know I was held hostage in a closet for two weeks.
If you really knew me,
You would know I was a prostitute with no hope. I had already been raped, so what did it matter. I hated this place.
If you really knew me,
You would know after all I have been through I have little hope.
But, if you really knew me,
You would know I’d do anything for people and my heart is gold.
If you really knew me,
Would you understand this is why I am this way or would you still think this white girl is crazy?
If you really knew me,
You would understand me.
If you really knew me,
You would know my love is slowly fading for myself.
If you really knew me,
You would know I cry myself to sleep and it has been this way since I was thirteen.
If you really knew me,
Would you reach out your hand?
If you really knew me,
Would you help me understand?

Journal # 39
I remember coming from my cousins in L.A. and my mom and dad not being at home anymore.
I remember saying I didn’t have anyone to look up to anymore.
I remember my mom coming home from work all tired.
I remember trying to make some money for us.
I remember getting in the gang.
I remember getting shot at.
I remember getting locked up and calling my mom to come pick me up.
I remember her telling me to not go anywhere.
I remember breaking into houses thinking that they were never going to catch me.
I remember being chased by the cops the next day.
I remember trying to call my mom from the Juvenile Hall.
I remember my oldest sister telling me that they had been deported,
My mom with my little brother and sister.
I’m just here locked up wishing that I would have never done anything wrong.
Maybe I could have been with her.

Journal # 40
I remember when my parents left me behind;
It was a long time ago, but it’s still in my mind.
I remember the day that I first got high,
I still love the feeling so much-and I don’t know why.
I remember when my dad came back home.
It was a Sunday afternoon, sitting on the porch on the phone.
I remember the day that my little brother died.
There was so much pain I couldn’t cry,
But I can feel it inside.
I remember when I first got locked up in the hall,
I looked up at the ceiling and stared at the wall.
Now I’m here again and I’m doing my time,
Wishing that I could go back to when I committed my crime.
Even if I fall, I will get up again.
I will set more goals and to accomplish them.

Journal #41
If you really knew me, you would know my favorite drug is methamphetamine.
If you really knew me you would know I am involved in gangs.
If you really knew me you would know I lost my love over my hommies.
If you really knew me you would know I regret being a gang member.
If you really knew me you would know I am waiting for my day to come.
You couldn’t really know me. I don’t even know myself.

Journal #42
I am up against my addiction to drugs. It is one of the hardest things to get through. I never thought I would become an addict because I saw what it did to my friends and more importantly, my family. But at the age of 13 I tried meth for the very first time. I guess I was an addict in hiding because I really liked it. From then on I’ve used meth like it is going out of fashion.
I managed to hold myself together and stay clean for a year, but I fell off track and right back to the dope I went. My grandma has been clean for a year now. I’m just hoping she can manage better than me and stay that way because she is the most important person in my life besides my handsome son who I miss so much.
I’ll be free on the 11th, so I hope that will be my second chance. A second chance is exactly what I am getting. I get to go home and be with my dad and not be locked up until I am 18 which is what I was expecting with my charges. What do I think a second chance looks like? I am looking at one right now.

Journal #43
Dear Mom,
Something you don’t know is that I have been raped and molested. In July of 05 when I was under the influence and I cried and told you the next day; I said I didn’t remember what happened, but I did. I just felt that you wouldn’t care or would have thought I was crazy. I was so young and scared. You always said it was me and you against the world. There is you, but there is no me. I am nothing, worthless, and scared miserably.

Journal # 44
Money=greed=wanting power
Honey=bee=finding a flower
Hate=death=constant sadness
Pain=fear=endless madness
Hope=God=better days
Maybe one day we’ll be on the same page,
Because life is disintegrating with every step we take.

Journal #45
It seems like I have done wrong all my life. Now I’m getting asked what a second chance looks like. I wouldn’t know because I have been too busy doing wrong and not right. I would imagine that if I was to take advantage of a second chance I would pay back and attend to my dying mother’s life. I would try to show my little brother that I what I was doing was not right and that life could be better.
Now that I’m back in Juvenile Hall and my little brother is literally across the hall on a different pod, I can’t imagine what my mother is feeling. She sits in a rest home with an amputated leg. Life to me sucks. I do want to take that second chance. I have a child on the way and two at home. I love them with all of my heart and soul. I don’t want to keep on neglecting them.

Writing Exchange II

Writing Exchange
Fresno County and Butte County Juvenile Halls
July 3, 2008

Journal #12
The only people in my family that haven’t been arrested are my grandparents. They’re the only ones that have pushed me to succeed, but I always end up behind these walls. The next time I get into trouble, I’m going to county. I used to be ok with that; I would spend my life behind bars because that’s the cycle of my family. My dad and one of my brothers are both serving life sentences for murder and another brother of mine is on the run after committing a murder. My mom has been in and out of prison. I know now, I do not want to have that life, but it may be too late. I was supposed to get out on July 9th and I still might, or I might get transferred to county. I was told by my PO that I may be facing two attempted murder charges.
I thought things could not get worse until a few days ago when I found out that my grandfather died. The thing that hurts the most is that I could have seen him one more time if I would have been continuing to do good. I actually asked to be locked up this time, so I know it is my fault. It is not probation’s fault for not letting me out early or the judge’s fault for putting me in here, but me for making the bad decisions and not listening to what he was trying to tell me all of those years. So right now I just want to take this time and apologize for letting you down. Know one thing, if I get a second chance I promise you I will break the cycle and make you proud. I’m sorry. I love you.

Journal #13
It isn’t wrong when a mother and daughter have a special bond. I can tell her almost anything even if it’s bad and she wouldn’t even get mad. She’s the only one I can open up to and the only one that makes me feel new. The most beautiful thing in the world that makes me feel calm, there’s nothing I would want more than my mom. Every day she makes me smile, I’ll run to her within a thousand miles. She tried so hard to keep me from trouble. Every day with her my life doubles. In my mother’s glory, she’s my sun in the morning. I would do anything for my mom. She makes me happy when I’m blue, every day she makes me feel new.
But as I took her love and respect for granted, our relationship became stranded. I became addicted to the streets, posted with the homies smokin’ some weed. Mobbin’ deep to crazy parties leaving mom worried, coming home telling her my sorry’s. As I saw the hurt in mom’s eyes, I realized this is why she cries. So I stopped going out and stayed home, annoyed by the rings of the phone. Friends calling, telling me to come through, so I lie to mom knowing I wasn’t true.
As I walk down the street, I see the homie dooms, offering me a couple of his shrooms. Late that night I’m with home-girl stealing cars, in our hand holding chrome bars. Next thing you know we’re caught by cops, as they block us off within a couple stops. Five cop cars stop us at gun point and I’m thinking damn, in the home-girl’s pocket is a joint. As we get arrested I feel a pain in my chest, thinking of my mom and why I put her through this mess.
Now I’m in this grimy hall, hurting, without my mom, so I drop to my knees a fall. Thinking being locked up is hell without my mom alone in my cell, so I cry at night to God and say, I hope to be with her again one day. As days pass by without my mom I’m lost, now I know every action I take has a cost. All these games I was playin’, mom cryin’ while she was prayin’. Now I just sit and wait in my room, knowing I’ll be with her again real soon.

What is life without money?
What is Pooh without honey?
What is a sister without her brother?
What am I without my mother?

I LOVE YOU MOM!

Journal #14:
I remember when I turned 13. My dad had just gotten out of prison from a seven year sentence. I was just graduating from the 8th grade. There were two people I wanted to be there: my mom and dad even though they were not together. I saw my mom when I was on stage. I looked all around hoping my dad would show up, but he never came.
I remember right after the 8th grade graduation, I moved to a neighboring city. My dad was still out of prison, so I went to see him for Christmas. He gave me $150. An hour later I remember looking all around for him. He was gone. I spent a total of 30 minutes with my dad the whole year he was out.
I remember I just finished my freshman year. My mom was a recovering meth addict. I was really proud she was doing well now, but I sure didn’t show it. I was off very late at night drinking and smoking weed with the homies, worrying her. It went from weed to coke now and then, but I told myself I wasn’t doing so bad.
I remember telling myself I was going to make a better life for myself, stay out of jail, and away from drugs. I also remember the day I came to juvie, sitting in my cell wondering how this happened.
The most important thing in the world for me is to succeed. I want to succeed not just for me, but for my brothers and my mom too. I want out of juvie and to graduate high school. After that I hope to go into the Coast Guard or to college. If I did do those things, it would make my mom very proud and I think I owe that to her. My mom is a recovering meth addict. She lost me and my three other siblings when we were younger. She went to rehab and has been clean for 4½ years now. She has a steady manager job and a four bedroom house. So, I think I owe it to her to at least do something with my life. I want to succeed also for my brothers so that they can have a role model and someone to look up to.

Journal #15
One of the most important things in my life besides my family is probably my dirt bike. The reason that my dirt bike is “another” important thing in my life is because wherever I want to get away from people and have fun all I have to do is grab my dirt bike, load it up and just go!
Another reason I love riding my dirt bike is because when I get mad at someone or something, I can get on my dirt bike and take out some anger. The only thing about doing that is most of the time I’ll usually try and do something I know I can’t do and end up falling and hurting myself which sucks, but it happens.
There are many other reasons why I picked my dirt bike, but, the ones listed are the most important.

Journal #16
The most important thing to me is my family because when I was younger my family was messed up on drugs and didn’t take care of me. My dad was never home and my mom was always in bed.
When I got locked up on February 11, 2008 my dad went downhill very quickly because of drugs and alcohol. My mom had nowhere to stay so she was going to a homeless shelter. My dad ended up in rehab and my mom stayed with my great aunt. The only reason all of that happened is because I wasn’t there to take care of them. If I had been there my dad wouldn’t have had to go to rehab and my mom would have had somewhere to stay.
When I get out everything’s going to be different, there isn’t going to be any drugs or alcohol. My mom and dad aren’t going to be all messed up all the time and I’m not going to be messed up all the time either.

Journal #17
The most important thing to me is to make sure my baby niece grows up with a father figure in her life. When I was on the run, I took on that role. Her real father is in prison for three years. I helped raise her from when she was two months to six months old. I got locked up like her father. Raising a baby is a beautiful thing. Now I’m sitting in a cell thinking about her. I just wish I could go back in time and not carry a gun with me to the store. I swear I’d do anything for her. Every time I think of someone else taking my place in her life, I cry. I just hope that the person who does, does a better job than me.

Journal #18
My family is the most important thing to me. After 8 years of wasted time, I have come to this realization. I didn’t know what I had at home. I know that people say that all the time, but I really didn’t know. My mom gave me the world, everything I wanted I got. All I gave her in return were bruises and broken bones. I got in fights with my mom and beat her. She gave me love. It’s like she looked through the evil and only saw me as sweet and the child she wanted. I brought drugs and hell into her safe environment and she still took me and gave me love.
I got locked up when I was 13 for my first time. I thought I was the coolest thing. I went to a probation school and gave the staff hell for 4 years. I have been places you wouldn’t want to be: homes with tweakers. I started to do crack, meth, and coke because I was living under a bridge and in tents. I was too scared to go to sleep and the drugs made it so I didn’t have to. I was invincible, untouchable, and unstoppable. I then went back to prostitution and giving my money to a guy that said he loved me. It took me years to see that the only people in my life I really need, I hurt.
Now I am being given the chance to start all over and believe me I will never mess my mom or brothers lives up the way I did mine. I will never again lay a hand on my mom because the next time I may not get to have my mom in my life again. It took those last two years of living like I did to realize what I had at home.

Journal #19
June 30, 2005 was the day of my awaking. A couple of days previous to this date (three years ago) I was hit with a bomb. I was fourteen and pregnant. My first solution to my “problem” was to have an abortion. I did so much as to go to the clinic to abort my baby. I simply walked out saying, “I will come back later.” My mom and sister wanted me to keep my baby, but me being selfish, all I could tell myself was, “what about my body, I don’t want to get fat. I am too young to have a baby.”
Three days later my sister and I were driving from downtown and flew off the side of a ramp on the freeway. We went airborne. My sister yelled, “Don’t be scared”. That was the last thing I heard as we were flung like garbage into a dumpster. We landed on a tree. A TREE! We thought it was a bush. While we were flying, do you know what my first reaction was? I guarded my pregnant belly. Only two months into motherhood and planning to end it, but yet I protected my child with no concern for myself. At the emergency room they explained to me how lucky I was to be alive. Not only that, my baby was alive as well.
Now three years to the day, my daughter is two and I am trapped in this hell hole, not able to protect her like when she was in my belly. The love this child gives me is the best feeling and most important factor anybody could ever receive. I have to go six months waking up in the morning without seeing her face, without the “momma” she screams in excitement seeing my face. I find it hard to sleep wondering if she will forget me. Does she know how special she is to me? She is the most important, beautiful, special, smart, sweet little miracle God could have blessed me with. When I am released, I will show her how unique she is. Thank you God!

Journal #20
To me, the most important thing is my little brother. He is my life. I love him so much. He is one of the reasons I do right or at least try to do right. Before he gets older and can actually realize what’s going on, I want to be doing good for him and myself. He is one and I am 15. I was raising him for a while because my mom was not doing too well. She was into dope and so was his dad, but now look at me. I complained all of the time about them doing drugs but look where I am at.
I am going to do good this time for my little brother’s sake and mine. I hope that it all works out for me and him when he gets older. I hope when I get out and see my little brother he is happy to see me like he usually is. That is what makes my day, seeing him happy and loving me. I miss that little boy so much. He is my life, my heart, my everything and if it weren’t for him I would have never even thought about getting clean or helping my family.

Journal #21
The most important thing to me
Well, it was always obvious to see
It didn’t matter if you were a little chubby
Because you had always loved me
He was my very best friend
And he was supposed to be with me till the end
If I ever needed someone I knew you were he
I mean you would even hit the bong with me
There was no comparison to my feeling of dirt
When I found out that he was hurt
I had believed that even though he was old
It was impossible for his life to be sold
It had killed me on the inside
As I found out I couldn’t be there for his last ride
And it killed him slowly as he lost his sight
Slowly suffering through the everlasting night
As he slowly lost his sanity
I was hoping for some miracle fantasy
As he was going through this never ending hell
I was trapped in this encaging cell
I remember getting angry going crazy
After visiting where my mom had told me
It had been the day after my birthday
That my best friend had slowly passed away
And that day that I knew you were dead
I thought I’d never stop crying in my bed
So every day I beg and beg to the holy
To please take care of my best friend Cody
He had kept me safe from every evil beast
And because of this his memory will never cease
I don’t care if you think it’s wrong
But my very best friend was my dog

R.I.P. Cody
My family saved him from an abusive owner

Journal #22
What is most important to me is my little girl. My daughter, she is everything to me. The day she was born I was so happy. I felt like I had just won a million dollars. She is so beautiful, just like her mother. She is 10 months old today. I saw her last week, but already I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever. Already I feel that missing feeling I feel when I get locked up.
Words can’t explain how my little girl affects me when I am in here. Words can’t explain how much I love her and how much she means to me. Still, I couldn’t help her if something happens. God forbid that anything would go wrong for her while I am here. I’d go crazy. She is more important than my friends and family. All these walls and locked doors are holding me from seeing her. I’m tired of this concrete and stainless steel. Nine more days left and I can’t wait to see her.


Journal #23
The most important thing to me in this world is “graffiti”. I like art that’s what I do for a living. To me graffiti is important because I know that’s one thing nobody can take away from me. All I have to do is paint, create and decorate. Sometimes I do it so much I get in trouble with the cops, but that doesn’t make me hesitate or give up on my art work.
Graffiti is art. I will do my best graffiti, so I can show the world how good I am. That’s my goal; that’s what motivates me to become better than before. So my plan is to hit college and do some art over there. I want to see if I can get some of my graffiti art in a museum and that is important to me.

Journal #24
What is more important to me than anything would be my beloved son and my family. Ever since I was adopted at 3 years old into the family that I have, they have been there for me. I am more than happy that I was chosen to go to their house in foster care. I must admit, growing up in my family was a struggle, but I did learn it is important to do things on the double. Because if you don’t put your best effort before you, you probably won’t get anything done. Ever since my girl had my son, life seems to be brighter. Every time I walk I seem a little lighter. It’s amazing and a gift from God. The best things in my life are my son, my love, and my unborn son. I love them with all of my heart and soul. It makes me feel as if I can never fall. Will they all stop and forgive? I want to thank God for my kids. If my mother or one of my children would die, I would undoubtedly break down and cry and ask God why. I try and try to be a good dad, but the cemented blocks won’t let me leave.

Journal #25
I always seemed to raise hell. My mother used to tell me I was going to see from behind bars or the inside of a jail cell. I remember getting brought home from school by the cops for stupid things I did. I was getting into fights and stealing from stores. When I was eleven my brother died in my mom’s arms in the hospital. A year after that happened, I started doing a lot of bad stuff like smoking weed, robbing people, getting involved in gangs, and other things that were messing my life and education up.
When I was thirteen I went into a store and stole five bottles of booze. When I exited the store, the clerk supervisor stopped me and took me inside of the back room. He called the police. After talking with the clerk and me, they put my hands behind my back and said I had the right to remain silent. They put the handcuffs on me and drove to the police station. Two hours later I was transferred to the county juvenile hall. I arrived to the hall at 11:23 PM. I woke up in a cell. My mom picked me up at 4PM.
After being released from juvenile hall my first time, I went back three months later. I have been going back on and off for the past three years. I am here again now. Will my life ever change?