Hello again, it’s Bukks,
I’ve moved on now to a restricted minimum prison now. I just thought I’d write to let you know how I’m doing. It’s a big move for someone who has been in so long and I didn’t really want to do it to be honest. I was happy and comfortable and in jail that is a big thing.
I’m still writing poetry as a way to get stuff out of me, better than a psych, I think? My pen-pal went home, deported back to her home country. I get to talk to her on the phone when she’s not too busy so it’s all good.
Why does time move so slow? Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years, year after year. I wonder if other people have ever felt invisible? This is how I feel a lot for some reason. I have been through so much just during this one sentence.
I started off as basically a kid, drug-using, fighting, running amok and slashing up even. I’m way past that now, I’m a man, I’ve grown, I think? I haven’t slashed up in a long, long time which is one good thing, I guess. I turned to Islam which has helped me so much, but being honest I don’t feel too worthy? What can you do, life’s a trip you know?
I lost a lot of time to the slot as well, it’s like being in Cryo, like Demolition Man, except you are awake the whole time. I get lonely enough without having to go back there. I have worked my way out of maximum, medium and am now in a restricted minimum. Restricted as it still has a fence around it so you are not going anywhere!
Would I even run off if I could? Where would I even go? I don’t know what’s left for me outside of these walls? I hate it and sometimes it makes me hate myself? I’m doing stuff now like the TPP so I can get into uni if I want? It’s funny to think I may do uni at what, 45, 46? I won’t be doing it this year so I guess at the year after and that?
I’m going to be honest with you again, I don’t feel any prouder or anything? Old school poets would call the way I always feel melancholy, or so I’ve learned. I don’t know what if anything I’ll ever get to make of myself? Who cares about a 49/50-year-old who has spent more than half his life in prison and / or juvenile justice centres?
So what is left for me? I will just keep writing poetry and see what comes of it? It’s not like I’m gifted with any other talents? Too bad I didn’t realise I was actually good at something a lot sooner, what can you do? So, I’m a 44-year-old poet, at a restricted minimum-security prison who still has at least four and a half years left? I just keep on going, you know, what else can I do?
It’s been a long, long road and I still feel not much closer to the end. If I didn’t say I’m scared of getting out, I’d be a liar! Not that I have to worry about that for a while. I get to eat a lot better here, bonus. I can still write my poems.
