This week, I have no words for you that could top the words of Marvelle, one of the students in my creative writing workshop at Gus Harrison Correctional Facility, to whom this post is dedicated. He’s a sweet guy with a good sense of humor; I’ve never seen him without a smile. And so, without further delay, I present you his inspirational piece, “This is a Story about My Everyday Life.”
“I enjoy life, no matter what my conditions are. I smile everyday, because some people did not wake up to smile. I am thankful; I love my life. Even though there’s not money, honeys or freedom right at the moment, prison is a part of my life and there is nothing I can do to change it. I will always remember what I done. I have did a lot of right out of life and some wrong; my right and wrong on a scale right now today is 75 percent right and 25 percent wrong, which is marvelous to me and millions of others.
I’m one of a kind, a person that is not forgotten. Every day I’m learning more about how to love instead of hate. Life is not easy, definitely when living in a city like Detroit. I see so much every day — people dying, crying, struggling — trouble just seems to find some people. Me, I think of millions of people every day. Why, I have no idea — it’s just something I do. It does not stress me out — it makes me happy, because I can think of millions of people, some people probably can’t think of a hundred people a day. This is unbelievable, what goes through my mind day to day.
I face situations that I must make the best out of. Like today, I have woke up once again on this piece of cotton that is three inches thick; I might as well be sleeping on steel, because I wake up feeling like shit. I have slept on this steel for five years now. I’m about to stretch and then exercise and it will be a lot better; it’s how I make the best of this situation. I’m also still around a-thousand men, which is very uncomfortable. I can’t wait until my conditions get better; I never thought in life I would experience this.
I have to man up; I am doing my time, and not letting it do me. I love my life, and until death I am strong every day, no matter what. I am blessed to be here, and I have a mission — I will make a difference in the world, I will uplift my people.
My day-to-day life is about bringing change. I love this world and my life.
I am somebody.”
If you have any comments or any questions for Marvelle, please don’t hesitate to reply — I will make sure to relay any feedback to him during our next class period.
– Molly Ann Blakowski
If you have even the slightest doubt, don’t do it. Don’t think twice. The answer is firm. The answer is “No.†No climbing of trees. No climbing of mountains. No shoes without proper arches (and they must always be clean). Take better care of your shoes. I don’t even know why I buy them for you. They’re always ruined. Don’t walk in the rain, stop walking in the rain. Your shoes will ruin and you’re really better off staying indoors, anyway. If you walk in the rain you’re likely to catch a cold. Or pneumonia. And don’t think you’re going dancing in those shoes, either. I don’t want you out dancing and drinking. You’ll get too tired; you’ll stay up too late. Your friends will forget about you and leave you behind. And worst of all—your shoes, they’ll scuff. A proper lady keeps her shoes clean. Don’t listen to music loudly. Eat your food slowly. Order a salad. At home, clear the table. Don’t tell your boyfriend, “I love you.†I know you don’t. When you break up, wait a while before finding another boyfriend. Not long enough and you’re trash. Too long, you’re a lesbian. Don’t tell me you’re a lesbian. Your reputation is only as clean as your shoes. You have too many male friends, which makes me suspect you’re a lesbian. You spend too much time with them. You sweat with them. You’re going to get hurt if you carry on like this, with your hiking, your camping. You can’t live out of a backpack. You can’t just gallivant about the wilderness. You can’t fight the elements. Listen: You’re going to get very hurt, or maybe you’re going to die. The mosquitoes are terrible out there. I’ll bet you contract West Nile. Your asthma’s getting worse, too. And for God’s sake: remember your blood condition. I know you’re not drinking enough water. I know you’re picking your scabs. That’s why you have so many scars—don’t you listen to your dermatologist at all? If you weren’t gallivanting about the wilderness all summer, wearing your hair short in that bandana like the lesbian you’re becoming, you wouldn’t have these hideous scars. Or this sunburn. Don’t you wear sunscreen? And how many times do I have to tell you to reapply it? You reapply sunscreen every hour. That’s every single hour, reapplying your sunscreen. That’s the appropriate amount. But you, you’re red. Don’t you know that this family has a history of skin cancer? And would you please just stop and think a minute, about your condition? Jesus Christ, your condition! Well, once you’ve gotten another boyfriend I’ll continue questioning your sexuality on a semi regular basis, but you better not be having sexual intercourse. Slow down. Don’t blow all of your money on train fare. And especially not on airfare. There’s a lot of risk involved with air travel. Don’t go where I can’t follow. Don’t walk so fast in those shoes. They’ll scuff.