The Journal of an Angry Black Man

Picture this... Me... Richmond City Jail...40 of the longest days of my life...never to be re-lived or won-back from time. I honestly don't even want to write about my experience there, but I'm sure that some type of revelation can come through a cathartic session like this one.  There were so many different areas where I felt tested and tried while incarcerated, but to point out one as more important than another would do them all injustice.   I definitely learned my lesson.  Watching HOW I SAY things to people makes a big difference.  WHAT I SAY to them can be done without putting myself in a situation where they have a reason or the motivation to take what I've said to the authorities.  And being able to recognize when something or someone is not even worth the dignity of a response would be an asset. I'm intelligent enough to choose my words wisely, and to know when the situation is beneath my involvement.   I gained an opportunity to meet p...

"I feel you." I'm so sick of hearing that.  No, nigga. You don't feel me. You don't feel anything about my situation or my life because you're not living it.  There's no way you can feel me if you're enjoying the benefit of being able to bring home your own income or paying your own bills on time with your money.  If you are doing that, then you don't know how I feel. Right now, I feel like shit. Not being able to do anything for myself other than sit here and apply over and over for jobs and programs that I have convinced myself I'm not good enough to get.  It's a bitch living in a world where you truly don't feel you belong anywhere other than behind bars or in a mental institution.  And even if they were to lock me in jail, the bad part is that I've never done anything that would allow them to lock me up for life, but as soon as I'm back out I'm subject to being perpetually punished for my mistakes throughout the r...