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Who’s there to cry for me?

Because I am mentally drained
from all the pain of seeing my brothers slain.
Too many nights of death on my city streets,
can’t call the law for help,
they want to murder me.
I keep a gun for when my day come,
we hang out in crowds,
There’s nowhere to run.
I came too far in a life of facts,
A trusted few with knives in their backs,
can’t give an inch cause they kill for slack,
picture a world like that.
What kind of life is that?

Hurts hard to live a life of black
every time I’m pulled down
I fight to make it back.
Who’s there to cry for me?

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

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Carnell Wingfield Jr.

Carnell Wingfield Jr. is a writer and PJP contributing poet incarcerated in California. He is a sociology major at Feather River College and also graduated with distinction from Blackstone Career Institute's paralegal course.