Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

All those people you used to pick on and bully,
From elementary all the way to 12th grade.
The ones that wasn’t in the cool crowd,
The ones you considered lame,
The ones you made fun of, they couldn’t sit at your table,
The ones who’s pockets you made go bunny ears*
The ones that were scary and non-violent
And didn’t want to join your gang.
The laughingstock.
Guess where they at.
Telling you to lock it up.
FBI, detectives, police and correctional officers,
Look how the tables turned on you.
Now you the one getting bullied,
And they’re getting a big paycheck to babysit and arrest you.
A paid informant
Can kill you and get away with it,
Plant drugs on you, have you with a life sentence.
Half be personal and grudge-holding,
Still in their feelings,
They’re grown, but was scorned as children,
No highlights from grade school,
All because of criminals like you.
They won’t get back, and took the right way.
So if you ever ponder on that, this is where they at.

*In this context “bunny ears” is used to mean “go broke” or “having no money.” It references empty pockets because they look like bunny ears when they are pulled inside out.

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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E.D.H.

E.D.H. is a poet who was raised in Compton in Los Angeles. He is currently incarcerated in California. He has asked to be published under his pen name.