MY HOME SPELLS J.A.I.L TO ME

When I was 16, my then 7 y.o sister and I lived in jail (secretly) with my mother for 6 years. Suffice to say, you can really connect the dots in your life looking back and realized that everything happened for a reason. With no dad in the picture, we became homeless when my mom got arrested. Jail had to break my mother's nomadic spirit and in the process sledgehammered my hateful heart.

This poem is coming from a place of healing, so in a way, after 30 years, I'm coming from a happy place. Enjoy!

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MY HOME SPELLS J.A.I.L TO ME

M-other said, "Think of it like we’re on vacation.”

Y-et, it felt like we’re in hell, no liberation.

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H-orror is the door you opened for me

O-dor of stinking souls, your welcome party

M-urderers and sinners took care of my lil’ sister

E-nemies that lurk in my dark nights were sinister.

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S-o yes, prison was the home built by our mother

P-unishment for a crime meant well, but why bother?

E-veryday, I hated mother! Wishing for my cradle to break

L-ooking through her rotten soul, was she regretting her mistake?

L-ess, my young spirit decay, but heaven gives salvation

S-oon I realized, harboring hate became my poison; then

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J-oy filled me when God said, "forgiveness can heal your pain,"

A-midst brokenness, jail's not that bad, there's lessons to gain

I-n an evil place, a contrite wounded soul was healed; when

L-ove penetrates the coldest seclusion, hate yields.

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T-hen years went by, time for me to wave goodbye.

O-utside, to where there are no sinners and crimes; but

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M-emories of a place, where I've forgiven my mother, still linger within me.

E-ven I no longer live there, I frequently visit 'coz my home spells jail to me

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Now, I teach and provide mental health support to youth, parents, teachers, police officers, and prisoners as well as their families as my way of giving back to a place I once call home.