On Introspection


If this is my home, it feels broken into

where’s my warm welcome?

the family before was beaten and evicted

hard to settle in, hard to get cozy

if this is my home, who’s misplaced my dishes

the silverware is tarnished and rusted

shelves sit empty, books besieged

why are there bars on the windows

and empty bottles in the bin

this isn’t mine

tear this house down

Its getting harder to recognize myself, and it isn’t only because of the unkempt facial hair mess or the longer-than-comfortable-but-fuck-it mop on top. Every day I evaluate than re-evaluate my stances, beliefs and passions. Nothing else to do in here really. Sometimes I get so bored with myself that I force my brain to shut off, other times my views are so splendidly revolutionary that I swear I will remember them so no need to write them down. Fool. I’m no longer the bubbly jokester or even the positive morale booster, it hasn’t even been a year yet. Or maybe I am and just don’t have anyone to joke with. I steadily keep turning further and further inward, caring less and less about the outside world, minus a select few people and places. Thus I can see how the outside world views prison/prisoners. Not even out of sight out of mind, more; never in sight blinded to sight. All the more miraculous that there is still some who actually do give more than just predisposed mime concerns towards the plight of prisoners. The amount of true despair, pain, disillusionment, confusion & rage behind these walls is earth shaking, and this is just a federal holding facility! The horrors that await inside county, state & federal prisons is a nightmare that society denies its having, a monster it continually sweeps under the bed hoping the kids never hide under there. It’s a pirate’s treasure chest filled with forgotten and abandoned souls who have been shown no other way to survive than through violence. We tell kids to listen to the police, the good guys. So when our kids pull guns and fire hopeless and senselessly into another, should we not award them with badges and promotions, like they’ve seen their role models receive? How can we expect to stop things like rape when we teach boys that they’re strong and in control and that girls exist just for sex, then use the media to instill that same worthlessness into young girls so much that they’re brainwashed to believe it? I don’t recognize myself anymore because I used to love calling girls babe & bitch because “It’s a term of endearment” I would lie to myself. I had no problem telling someone to “quit being a fag” using the Eminem definition of detachment. I used to buy Nike shoes buy plain black tees, buy fucking everything to form an identity, never made anything though, especially an impact. Consumer tool, like everyone else. “I’m different” I would say to myself, railing molly off the bathroom counter at a hipster bar “I talk politics while fucked up, I see this is wrong I am just doing it ironically.” moronically more like. Everyone loves being a weekend warrior, showing up for the rally or protest, fuck up some nazis’ or a brick through a window or two. Then race home to brag about it on tablets and social media. The reason I don’t recognize myself much these years is because back then I didn’t have a personality of my own. Like many I just reflected back on what I thought about being morally, socially & class conscious meant “am I doing it right?” When you look in the mirror and the thing opposite you is ashamed to look back, or too high, it’s time to re-evaluate yourself and do it quick. I am proud of who I was before my arrest and now after. The mental, social and physical changes I began making years ago were beginning to manifest. Was I still a tad too emotional? Probably. Was I still a hypocrite? It’s a human paradox. But my everyday life had evolved, my relationship with oppressive personality traits have matured, the way I was living was my views actualized, put into action. That felt good, real good. Everyone can benefit from some hard evolution. Calling yourself out is hard, yet rewarding, like most difficult things. Nothing feels better though than knowing you were living life the way YOU wanted instead of living the way you thought you should. Lots of improving. Having people around who share ideas, visions of the future, and affinity in reality and not just the obscure ideas, helps make me more honest, more introspective and more happy.

Eric King (A) (///) (V)