Poem:"Just Shoot Me"
{Blog- "Just Shoot Me"}
One night, you're on a date with your significant other. You're both having great night-- especially because despite the fact that you're living together, you both are individually juggling school and full time jobs. You planned this surprise for her, about a month in advance-- in spite of your introverted personality. What you did not plan, was a phone call from your mother at the end of the night, informing you that detectives came to her home looking for you.
"Mom, are you serious?", though Mother is not much of a joker, it's the initial shock. "Yes, they left me their information" she replied. "Okay, give it to me, I'll call them in the morning" I assured her.
The following morning, I called out of work and called Detective Skulsky at the precinct. "He's not in yet" I was told. I called again about an hour later. "He's not around at the moment, is he expecting your call?" the voice asked. "Yes" and then I left my information.
A couple of hours later, I was ambushed in our home, with a gun aimed at me. Honestly, in retrospect, I wish I had the remote controller in my hand. Maybe getting shot would have given me-- not only the publicity (I did not know) I needed at the time but also, and most importantly, competent representation (Thank You Cesar Gonzalez Jr. for your corrupted lack of concern). Most lawyers and/ or organizations typically take genuine interest in a case (pro bono) for publicity. Which is understandable to an extent.
On the other hand, the angle of the detective coming up the stairs with the gun, as I was walked down the stairs from the top floor-- was possibly positioned towards my heart. So in spite of sounding like a martyr, I could have been killed. Like the victim's family may have wished. Honestly, sometimes I wish that too.
No, I am not suicidal-- but death is not worse than being convicted for a horrendous crime that you did not commit. It's like suffering a long, torturous death. Drowning, burned to death, being buried alive for over twelve years and counting. They've taken my Degree(s), my Career(s)-- they've taken my Children! They've taken my Mother! My Loved Ones!
When that life saver, fire extinguisher and shovels finally come-- when I am finally exonerated--- what do they compensate? Money? Would money buy me back my time lost? Would an apology?
Most of these people in here claim innocence, but they embrace and adapt to this imprisonment. They have such a good time in here. Everyone tells me that I'm too serious, but I don't care to socialize with them or tell my story in here. What are they going to do for me?
Yes I'm serious, but it's not to be mistaken for bitterness. There is light and love in me, despite this dark and hateful place. This place just does deserve me, as I do not deserve this place.
Like I told the victim's family, I apologize for being associates to the people involved, but I was not involved. I will prove my innocence to them. This is what most significantly drives me.
PEACE, LOVE & BLESSINGS!
