The Abuse


My stepfather would say: ‘You ain’t shit! You ain’t go be shit! You ain’t ever going to be shit!’ After the verbal abuse, the physical abuse followed. I was forced to strip down to my undies and grab the couch pillows and bend over. The chosen weapon were three braided switches, the length of my stepfather’s 6.5 inch arms.

I only stood at 3.5 and was a puddy kid who before the beatings loved to laugh. But I endured the abuse at home as well as in my neighborhood. It became normal for me to have at least four to five fights a week, most were behind my younger and older sisters – as well. I had a bad tendency of wanting to be accepted. So dealing with rough times have become my normal.


In prison I have become numb to violence, riots, gang fights, groups of cowards jumping on one person and so on, I have seen it too many times. While confined to my cell working to be productive I can hear those squeaky tennis shoes sliding over the floor followed by hard punches to the flesh then a crash to the floor and security guards screaming: ‘STOP!’


If the fight continues, I instantly grab a large towel, get it soaked and wrap up my face because the gas is coming depending how serious the fight; bigger canisters may follow. I continue writing hoping to drag myself out of prison, out of poverty and hopefully safe a life or two!

If you are thinking crime pays, or you want to be a gangster, crook or the like … get used to the idea of living around strangers, perverts, locked cell doors, eating SLOP, losing everything, fake friends and true misery. Prison awaits … by the way these cops love kicking you in your ass as well!

Derrick L. Griffin, 19-01-2021