I have yet to tell you about my past within this system. Let me put it this way: whatever may happen to me, it won’t be anything really new for me. I have had mail “lost”, my religious property disrespected and destroyed without cause, the few things I am allowed to have purposely broken, lost, taken for made-up reasons… these things were done to me on purpose and with malicious intent. It is part of surviving within the “violence control unit” section of this prison unit.
The following poem was written when I was housed in VCU. It is one of my oldest pieces.
I am in pieces — parts of a whole I suppose.
Sometimes the pieces don’t fit — or if they do,
Then not in the correct places.
I wonder about if I am put together properly.
Shouldn’t there be instructions? An owner’s manual perhaps?
One would think there would be something.
Pieces fall out sometimes — when I don’t notice is the worst…
All of a sudden I realize I need something and it’s not there!
I just had it! Where is it?
Did I leave it somewhere? What if someone picked it up?
An innocent? PANIC!
You can bet there is no return address on it.
And I know that I will never find it if I go looking for it.
It just doesn’t work that way…
I can’t throw away the pieces that I don’t want.
That never works. (I’ve tried.)
Just when I think I’ve gotten rid of something…
There it is again! Like gum on my shoe, it’s sticky.
It’s just hiding until you least expect it.
I hope that someday I can figure out how all the pieces fit.
I think that maybe if I can get them all in the right places,
then I’ll know stuff… I will finally understand.
Of course it may not work out for everybody…
Maybe all the pieces are mixed up for a reason…
I’ve thought about that too– perhaps it’s better off with me bein’
A jigsaw man.