I Am Not Him

I’ve traveled through the darkest places.

Before birth, I’ve learned the meaning of pain.

You see, I’ve experienced hurt through the umbilical cord.

Even before my mother’s sweat trickled down her face,

And the many faces she made pushing me out into the earth,

Is when I took in the air of despair.

Permutations that lack palatable insight,

The same faces my mother had unctuously established my lack of.

Personality does not define identity

When it’s distorted with discursive intents,

Unable to see beauty in anything of him.

I Am Not Him

What are you doing?

Why are you doing it?

Who are you, Satan?

Were the questions asked of an adorable little boy.

Confused, the smile of joy turned into horror stories.

The bed turned into a waterbed, but not from tears.

The nerve of them to trick the nerves into an ingratiated state.

Mother said that it will be better tomorrow.

That came and went,

And then came and went again,

And again.

Where is that tomorrow that we look forward to?

I guess that, too, was another mythical gallivant,

Manipulated through tools used to prevent productivity,

So that prosperity is not an option.

Capitalism offers opportunity

As long as someone faces struggles.

I Am Not Him

But ended up in many different states:

State of confusion,

State of abuse,

State of the state,

Warden of the state.

All started from the state of neglect,

A state of Gordian knots,

Lacking the state of sacrosanct.

I did not choose this state.

Call the man from Allstate.

This has to be an accident because—

I Am Not Him

The onus is on whoever writes

The communities’ wrongs,

Leaving them filled with lacuna,

Which reciprocates into behaviors.

These states cry out for transformative justice.

Justice asked,

“Who are the authors of this imbroglio?”

Why couldn’t I just be the paragon instead?

Satan, dare I say—

I Am Not Him!

Oftentimes, we confuse confusion with conflict,

Conflicting thoughts stirring up mayhem,

Each one racing,

Running…

Running…

Running in circles hoping for change,

Within an environment that’s tiring with fraught,

Lacking motivational mobilization,

Stuck between a wedge of mindfulness.

Without thought,

The process has stopped the function

Which operates the operator of your own life.

Changing faces to impress upon an impression,

Leaving the growing mind blank.

I Am Not Him.

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Jermaine Bryant Page received a Master's in Ministry and Leadership from Union Theological Seminary. He is serving a life without parole sentence from which he hopes to receive relief. He enjoys helping others as they embark on their educational journey and is a true believer in restorative justice as a means to achieve healing and accountability.