One lovely thing about prison is how it teaches you to spot your kind. Fellow prisoners. People enroute destiny. Another thing it teaches you is how to love them. How can you love someone you don’t know? Easy. Feel their pain. When you feel their pain you mentally substitute yourself for them. Once you’re in their shoes loving them isn’t hard. It’s easy. Because it’s loving yourself really. Met a fellow prisoner recently. She’s a queen, enroute her palace in Sheba. Easy to say I love her. I really do. Because I’m in her shoes. I feel her pain, and wish she wouldn’t have to go through it. The comments, snide remarks, weight of a single event bearing down. The fear of not staying off the drugs. I don’t know her but I know her, I really honestly do not know her. I’m not saying i do. But the thing is, I know her and I love her, because she is me. In many ways she is me.

But you see, when you reach out to such people, life’s taught them that ego and pride should never again be sacrificed. The mini connection over late night iHop dinners, extinguished by the boundaries or requisites that good intentioned loved ones place or want.

At this point, even as i myself want a way out of the prison, I forget the fuck about myself for two minutes and say a prayer for you. I say a prayer because as long as I’m in prison, and I feel pain, you feel pain too. Who am I to say my pain is greater.

So I decide to not call you, not text you, not ask how you’re doing. But just pray.

I want my pain gone, and when I feel it bad. all I can do is pray, so queen, I’m praying for you.

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