Today is Sunday. Today, I spent time thinking and praying for my people in prison.
I am not defined by my label of criminal, felon, prisoner; I am a human being.
No one knows the cost of freedom until it is taken away: it hurts something awful.
Caged. Think about it.
Anonymous; maybe once. But, I have a name. I am not a number. I am not a piece of flesh.
Redeemable. If I have done wrong, I can do right. If I am innocent, I have been wronged, but I still do right.
Captive to a system that is perverted by money, by power, by cowards.
Encouragement is what I need not the endless reminder that I am less of a human being because of my bars.
Remember me; oh my God, please remember me.
Advocate for change because when I do, I am punished.
Thank God for good food on your plate, the clean water, a kind word. I can’t recall what a strawberry tastes like.
Evenings of tears. I hear the muffled sobs of some who want to die.
Don’t let me die alone and forgotten. Does compassion exist?
I write many different people all over the country. I have been allowed to know the horrors of prisons. Sometimes when I have tried to share some of these people’s suffering; I get the eye roll, or the look that says, “OMG, there she goes again. It can’t be as bad as you say it is.”
God give me the courage and the strength to keep telling their stories.