Born and raised one of three kids by a single mom in Grand Rapids, Michigan, I struggled with who I was and tried to fit in with everybody just to feel normal, telling myself things would get better in time. Growing up, we were on welfare, struggling to live off food stamps and waiting on the third of the month to come to get money off our Bridge card.  I had no father to turn to, or anyone to show me how to be a man.  I adapted, and became a part of the streets around me.

I would come home from school to no lights and no food in the house, boiling water just to take a bath.  I started to stay in the streets to escape the pain of growing up in poverty and avoid watching my mother struggle.  At night I would walk down the street pulling car doors to find a safe place to sleep, praying to God nobody came to the car.  I would go days without meals and instead of returning home to struggle, I would go into stores and steal candy bars to survive.  It eventually led to depression and wanting someone to notice me.  I became a follower and before I could stop the ball from going downhill, I was in juvenile detention, praying for a blessing and direction but never really knowing if God could hear me. 

I wanted more out of life and thought I had to be like everybody else to get it.  I kept getting in trouble so the state stepped in, removed me from my mother and sent me to a foster home.  As soon as I got inside the home I could tell my foster family had only taken me in for the money, and the first chance I got, I left.  A few days later I was back in juvenile.  

That was the first time I experienced depression.  Locked in my cell, I stared at the walls with nothing but a big window and a yoga mat to sleep on.  Months later, I was released to a white foster family.  I didn’t mind, but after a week I just felt like the odd person at the table and nobody tried to make me feel comfortable.  So I left.  When I was released I was on lifetime probation, so when I violated I was sent to boot camp. 

After completing the program, my life was on track when my P.O. came and tried to send me to a halfway house.  That was the first time I noticed the system was treating me differently than the white kids I hung with.  We were all on the same path and case, but I would get months and they would get days.  At seventeen years, I was sent to prison for one year and released.  I was so proud of myself for not drowning myself in weed or liquor. 

And then came prison. I was walking with two dudes, and one of them decided to take someone’s headphones.  I got charged with armed robbery, and at trial, I was found guilty of aiding and abetting, which basically means the same charge as the armed robbery.  My case, #319320, gave me fifteen to thirty years in MDOC. 

I couldn’t believe I was being punished with at least fifteen years of my life, not for being involved in the crime, but for being around when it happened.  In 2012 I came to prison not knowing what to expect, and praying everything would be okay.  When I took my first steps on the prison yard I realized it was going to be a hard fifteen years.  Everybody looked at me like they were lions and I was the prey.   I ended up getting into one fight after the other until somebody finally said to leave me alone, and I was sent to the hole for fighting – twenty three hour lockdown in a cell with nothing but brick walls, a toilet and sink.  I was kept there for six months for defending myself. 

It was there I first wondered if anyone would miss me if I killed myself.  I also decided I couldn’t let this system win.  I was going to do everything I could to show the world nobody’s perfect, and change is possible.  I started taking programs and reading business books, trying to learn something every day.  It has been nine years of pain and struggle, but I like the man I’ve become.  My goal is to now help people caught up in this system, people the world has given up on.