I am a juvenile.
I wonder what happened to my childhood. I hear chains and shackles, I see the main tower, and I stand up in the face of the exercise yard. I want a new pair of eyes, eyes that will help me see my role in life differently. I am a juvenile.
I pretend this is a dream, while I stare disbelieving. I feel the wind in my face, I listen intently to the sounds, I feel alive. I touch a risk; the great hazard in life is to risk nothing.
I worry how a man endures, how he can be so cold. I cry sometimes because I have not a thing to my name. I am a juvenile.
I understand the size of my heart, and discovered the luster to life. I say to you, “happiness is good health and a bad memory.” I dream I invent something new. I try to fall in love many times with the same person.
I hope she is strong enough to love me. I pray to be forgiven and be a father. I am a juvenile …
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.