Archive | September, 2013


18 Sep


“You can talk with someone for years, everyday, and still, it won’t mean as much as what you can have when you sit in front of someone, not saying a word, yet you feel that person with your heart, you feel like you have known the person for forever…. connections are made with the heart, not the tongue.”  
―     C. JoyBell C.


6 Sep

The halls are always dark, and the voices that echo back at me are always brutal but I try to stay strong and move forward. Always staying true to the one voice that always overpowers mine and it’s that of my mother’s saying “Jesus loves you and no matter who fails you, just remember that he’ll never let you down. He is your invincible friend, the one that stays true and constant for eternity.” There were times when those words was more to me than a line my mother used to cheer me up, it was my strength to get back up when I had been spit and beaten upon. When no one wanted me there was this light that constantly emerged into my heart, filling it with love despite the lethal dose of hate I had just experienced. “Life throws us curve balls, mama use to say, sometimes it bends us and twists us before we ever come straight”. Well, my friend, I could tell you personally I had the works done to me, and everything bad one could say about me had been said, but I reminded myself at the end of the day that Jesus loves me,  this I know. I’d experience his everlasting love throughout my journey in juv. I’ve been in prison since I was thirteen; well I started off at a juvenile home, a place where the so called bad kids lived. Well, in my case, I was there for murder, I had a trial but I never went. I wasn’t placed upon a stand to defend myself, that’s what coming from nothing affords you. I was accused of killing Mrs. Greenwood, and I could tell you that I didn’t, but no one ever believes a word that I say out of my mouth. My brother killed her but it was an accident, and I took the rap for it. Only ones who knew the true besides me was Ray, my father, and his wife. They decided without me that my life wasn’t worth anything, and Ray had so much more potential than I did. So I guess that made me better suited for the job. That day was a disaster. I never received the chance to go back to my mother’s house to say goodbye to her, and my father refused to tell her what exactly had happened to me. She never really believed that I was a murderer or I had it in me to commit such a crime. Mona was my father’s second wife and Ray’s mother, and she had it out for me since day one. After the trial was over and I was sent away, my dad and his new family never came to visit me. That hurt more than anything else in the world. For ten years I hadn’t seen my father or received a letter from him. He had completely written me off as his daughter, and kept Ray as far away from me as he possibly could. My first year in juv was hard, I was never a fighter but I had to learn to become one, if not physically, mentally. I took the bait for almost every kid in that place. I could honestly say I didn’t disobey a single order any of the guards gave me except not to answer them. I learned quickly that it was better to keep my mouth shut and be locked away in a cell by myself than to snitch on my cellmates. That kind of mistake could place me in an early grave. Survival was the key in a place like that. Although sometimes I had to ask myself what was I truly fighting to live for? During my five years at juv I spent half of the time in solitary confinement. If an inmate decided that they didn’t want to take the rap for their own wrongdoings, they would plant their drugs on me. My mother came and saw me so many times at juv with my eyes swollen that she started bringing ice bags to help the swelling go down. At a certain point she started befriending the guards so that they could keep an eye on me. I must say that she never left my side. But I could see the tears in her eyes, although they weren’t physically there. It was confusing to her as to why I was in juv and why no one including myself could explain it to her. Why was I accused of murder? I know she must have asked herself a million times why was she fighting for me when I wasn’t fighting for myself. She had to fight for my life when she had lost all control over me. At times I didn’t want to be free because I was just existing. I was a kid for god’s sake thrown into a jungle being forced to fight for my life. Forced to fight against grownups, to prove to them that I could be fixed somehow. For five years I had a counselor talk to me about good and evil and how I could overcome evil by admittances of things I hadn’t done. Michal Williams was a god whole awful woman. I had to say yes to everything that she said to me, because each time I came close to telling her the truth, she twisted it into her own truth. I called that woman a bitch so many times it became a regular part of my vocabulary and indeed she was.  “Kenna, is it going to be a bad or good day today?” She use to say as if I had any control over the days. I didn’t even have control over whether I ate or not. My mind began to zone out after fifteen minutes of hearing her preach to me. Every meeting that I had with Mrs. Williams made me feel worse than before I sat down with her.  She wasn’t a counselor, she was a witch, and she certainly wasn’t there to get me back on the right track. She was there to send me into a mental institution. I fell so far into depression those first couple of years. Mrs. Williams once reported back to my mother that she thought that I was a lost child, but my mother shut her down as soon as she opened up her mouth. That’s one thing about my mother, you couldn’t tell her anything about me or what kind of person you thought I was. She always told me my biggest obstacle in life is realizing that I am as much a part of mankind as anyone else. I know what she told Mrs. Williams must have been harsh because she never approached my mother again with anything negative about me.  Mrs. Williams had me pray before she started any session with me. Sometimes she would get annoyed if I didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. The truth that I didn’t kill Mrs. Greenwood wasn’t honest enough for her. She used to shout at me, calling me a liar and saying how I would never get out of prison without showing any sign of forgiveness. One time in particular, she had gotten so angry at me that she forced me to stand in the middle of the room on a platform with a doll in my hands.  She instructed me to throw it down then pick it back up about a dozen time. Then she examined the doll. She told me that’s what I had done to Mrs. Greenwood, only I did it by pushing her down the stairs. I was scared after that meeting and happy that it was over as well. I didn’t see Mrs. Williams again until the next week.



Be your own ins…

1 Sep

Be your own inspiration!

Don’t ask yourself what the world needs;
ask yourself what makes you come alive.
And then go and do that.
Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.
—-Harold Whitman