“15 Years to Life - Self-Portrait” captures the emotional experience of the discovery when I realized that the best years of my life would be lost floundering in the belly of the beast. But my deeply felt pain and sense of hopelessness matured into political consciousness.

15 Years to Life - Self-Portrait

i desperately want freedom.
i perspire to cool myself off
from the heat of being imprisoned
by mental bars and walls.
the correctional officers are clocks
and the keys on their waists go
tic…toc…tic…toc
as they walk down D-block.

“Who we rep?!”
“Diligence…”

“Who we rep?!”
“Disappointment…”

“Who we rep?!”
“Determination…”

“Who we rep?!”
“Damnation…”

we waste away our youth in jail cells
and tattoo our dreams on ourselves
for days when we’re not feeling well
so we can look down at our skin
to remember the inspiration within.
sometimes pictures are all we have
because our commissary consists mainly of
could have, should have, and would have
which keeps our stomachs empty.

why oh why
is time working against me?
the judge gave me 15 to life and sometimes
i fear i’ll be a prisoner until
i can retire at 65.
the other day a lifer laughed at me
and said i’ll never get out
and i shook my head and smiled.
he doesn’t know that when the lights go out,
i stay up and plot my escape.
one day they’ll wake up
and i will be traveling far, far away.
i’ll shed these prison clothes
and today will be yesterday.

My art work shows a girl writing about missing her dad who is in jail. The words show what she is feeling about her father:

click to view full drawing

Penal Patterns

He moves from home to jail and home again
Connected to God’s pendulum.
He blames the world
And especially the man.
He swings at random.

He enters lives.
Several babies don’t know him.
He borrows starts.
His mother disowns him.
And he lies.

No commitment that takes time
Ever sticks.
He doesn’t have the-
Time.
It’s done to him.

He believes in God
And in the man
He needs to believe in himself.

Leslie, age 57

As I sit and think I only seem to be doing one thing and that is going in circles.

I am a lost dog with no destiny. I find this way of life dull or unclear. I am unable to see any movements or a sign of any person. I am stuck and forced to believe that this way is the only way because I am not told otherwise.

I like to believe that I could escape and all the pain and sorrow would be gone. But as soon as the thoughts enter, they exit. For some reason, all my colors seemed to be gray, and black in shades of white.

I’m alone in this cold world and I’m feeling anemic.

Which way is right? This bewildered look on my face may seem as if I fail to realize the questions. That’s because I don’t.

My only occupation is to get lost and stay far from the norm. Time after time I tell myself this is only temporary. But as time passes me by, this is becoming reality. I psyche myself to believe that the more I think and apply, the better it gets.

I feel my only mission is to reiterate my down time. I try to lift myself up, but I am a corpulent elephant. My thoughts revert back to a time when the sun and the sky was visible. But those thoughts abet me to relive the anguish I’ve experienced.

As I sit and think, I only seem to be thinking. That’s the only thing I have time for nowadays.

Aaron, age 16

The first time I got locked up I knew it was a plan,
I knew who was and who wasn’t ma manz,
I’m incarcerated,
I go to court sit down and my moms is waiting,
Now I’m locked up living in this cold world,
I can’t stop thinking ’bout hot girls,
It’s all my fault,
Instead of doing bad things I should’ve thought,
I should’ve thought about staying in my house,
Sitting on the couch, and watching TV,
Instead I was roaming the streets,
Getting high on weed,
Being locked up is like being away from the world,
When you have gone somebody else kisses ya girl,
I thought I was living in the lime life,
But ma moms told me I was living in the crime life,
Smoking weed, drinking liquor trying to get my mind right,
I was at the wrong place at the wrong time,
I was with the wrong people doing bad crimes,
And that’s what you call temptation,
I don’t wanna a bad reputation,
I wanna education,
And be remembered for my hard work and dedication,
As days go on I start getting stronger,
Physically, mentally
Then I start to wonder,
If I wasn’t locked up would I be 6-feet under,
I wanna make it in life and feel elevated,
And not be a person that has never made it,
I know my family is devastated,
That I’m incarcerated…

Prince, age 15

People who have an incarcerated family member naturally cycle through a range of difficult emotions as the years slowly pass. Some express their sadness, anxiety and fear or hope for the future through art, music or poetry.

To honor that artwork, Family Life behind Bars invited people to enter what they have produced that reflects those emotions.

Over the next few days, this site will post poems, artworks and photographs that people submitted by the Dec. 1, 2008 deadline. After all the submissions have been posted, you’ll have an opportunity to vote for your favorite pieces.

The winners will receive checks for the following amounts: The first prizewinner will receive $200; the second prizewinner will receive $100; and the third prizewinner will receive $50.

Hope you enjoy the work that people have agreed to share with you.

<a href="http://fs2.formsite.com/familylifebehindbars/form471433221/index.html">Click here to complete: 2008 Arts Competition</a>