Shannon the Apprehensive






A life of foster care, juvenile detention centers, and level E facilities has only shaped me for a life of incarceration. The battle is not prison; the battle is the transition from secular to holy. The compilation before you is of struggle and pain and, of course, the ultimate change of mind and will. What was once a hopeless act of survival by way of criminal inventions has now become a hopeful pursuit of the Godly, by way of self denial. As a poet/songwriter and musician, I try to articulate in many ways the struggle of prison life, as well as what it means to be a Christian behind the fence. I express my anger, my explicit thoughts, as well as my praise and frustration…

(IS My Momentum)


In the land of mass shootings and poor immigration, we are at the mercy of gray headed politicians who shake hands with corporate whales who never give a thought to the school of fish.

Political parties at odds only insures that nothing gets done, only talk, Zero action, And no control on guns.

The peace that I seek is a mental voyage. I sail the coast’s of unfamiliar waters in search of my own truth, only to find that my truth is in direct conflict with everyone else’s truth, and because my truth isn’t what’s culturally accepted, my truth is deemed in error.

Any ol’ dead fish can float down stream.

As a Salmon I go against the current of normality. It is within my nature to swim up stream, while society stream feeds live T.V shows of impregnated teens, all the while, I CAN’T BREATHE!

This time it is more than just a knee. It is over sentencing and poverty. It is systemic prejudice and oath breaking Presidents who’s only concern is for their party and their parties representatives.

But I am solar bound.

The height that I’ll reach, I expect, will go beyond human comprehension, I am apprehensive. I take calculated risks to remove all slack from my tension.

This is my ascension.

I need not build momentum, I am in fact Him. The Dilemma that I face I have befriended, He is my kin, He to me and I to Him.

My soul remains tormented, yet and still i will sing a new song, an Anthem of Charisma, while supplying ammunition to the heart broke militia, my hand painted picture.

Take a walk down my darkened valleys, and take mental images of my misunderstood mountains. These are the peeks that I scale, and indeed I fell deeper into a hole of self loathing.

But I am Holy.

While I live recklessly, suggestively I plot to overthrow the status quo. Am I a bad man? can I not be redeemed? or am I always the mistake that I’ve made?

Am I expected to remain ignorant? and if released from imprisonment, am I to repeat the same offenses that led to the victimization of the Innocent?…

and come to prison again?

I mean to upset the balance with an unmeasurable weight, and kidnap fate. And if hope is not a home when I return, then I’ll take disappointment out for a night on the town, and end the evening by politely letting her down with zero explanation as to why.

She knows exactly why.

Can see my wounds? Have you heard word of the betrayal? I am the urban Messiah, and my Judas is the excuses concocted by my need to be authentic.

I have become a copy of my fear.

I have become a copy of myself.

Where are you o distant friend? where is your reasoning? is there no place for you and I? or are you as unilateral as your name suggests?

Family? funny you should ask, for I have been adopted by razor wire, and have been raised by slave masters who brandish whips made of broken constitutions.

I am no longer recognized as a citizen. I am a sojourner. My family are those who have been cast out that I’ve met along the way.

Those who retain the kind if faith it takes to pray.

Have I upset you ol’ friend? is that why you are so unresponsive? am I not to your liking any longer? or was this all just a faze for you? I should feel relief at the chance to get away from you, but Instead I ache for you.

I should feel free from from your grip, instead I plead behind a fence for companionship, or some family pic’s.

I should feel elated. I should feel grateful for the cadence and the rhythm of my station, I am positioned in patience.

I harmonize with the greatest.

But this feeling isn’t elevation, it is one of hesitation. I am an electromotive force, when faced with little resistance I Amp up.

But I am not Amped up.

My peace of mind should be on the incline.

But instead it’s “going down!”

–a submission for the 2022 Literary Taxidermy Contest