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Discursive Writing about Prison and Stuff

April 25, 2014

It’s not much of a life I’m living in prison, but it’s the only life I’ve got. I just read about a Filipino prison in National Geographic, where they put 30 plus people in a single tiny cell; one dies each day, and another one takes his place. I’m glad I’m not in that prison.

I’m back in Ad-Seg again. The authorities have begun allowing radios in Ad-Seg now and that makes it not so bad as before. You know me and music: meant to be together — forever. I hope when I die, I’ll be listening to music as I go. Sometimes I’d rather be dead than in this prison.

Recently a bunch of people tried to come together to make my life better, but I couldn’t believe or trust it, until recently. Should have listened to that song:

“Seen a tough man cry
Seen a loser win
Heard an honest man lie.”

I’m tough and I’ve cried. I’m honest and I’ve lied. I’m a loser, but it doesn’t feel as if I’ve ever won. Anyway, it’s tough to believe that anyone is for you when you’ve always felt everyone was AGAINST you. Long story short, I messed it up, as I usually do. It seems every good thing in my life has passed away by my own hand. Why? Why do I build, yet not finish?When will something turn to gold in my hand rather than wilt and turn to dust?

I’m grateful to the women who helped ease my pain and helped me to forgive. Sometimes I took my pain out on them and that was wrong but, this may sound strange, kinda necessary to heal. Too complex to explain. The truth, though, is I love all these women a lot. The only one I can’t love is “Voodoo” but she still owns a twisted little piece of my heart.

That’s all. Goodbye for now…

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