Category: The Beat Without

by Antone Presley  My name is Antone Presley. I am a 25-year-old convicted felon for attempted murder. I’ve been incarcerated for three years now and time is moving extremely fast.  In early October, 2015 I committed a truculent act, trying to bring harm to a rival gang. Two weeks prior to my senseless crime, one of my friends was shot and killed at the age of sixteen. He was shot twelve times, in the face, which is an overkill.  When I got the call, about ten minutes after his death, all I could think about is revenge. I wanted the

by Ricky Sevier I take great joy and pleasure writing to The Beat Within as I flashback to the early 2000’s San Mateo County Hillcrest Juvenile Hall 21 Tower Road, before the new one was built. I was just starting to write and The Beat Within motivated me, reading poems and stories from other youth and all the way in the back the last few pages were always from people incarcerated in the state pen (adult system), telling powerful and  thoughtful stories and poems on another level.  Now, I find myself in Lancaster California State Prison. A friend of mine

Ten years in prison. I was housed at Pelican Bay State Prison (in Crescent City, CA). The institution was on lockdown. I was called to see the Chaplin on Monday, June 9, 2008. The Chaplin told me that my baby brother, Edward was shot and killed. I felt as if a lightning bolt struck my body as I fell after hearing this news. I called my baby sister, Tasha and listened to her describe the circumstances of our brother’s death. My eyes watered because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

I went back to my cell, told my cellie what I just found out and when we come off this lockdown, I’m out of here. I called out to the tower officer and asked if I could call my family. Him knowing the situation, allowed me to use the phone. After talking to my mother and other siblings. I asked the tower officer if I could go on the concrete yard to be alone for a while. He did so.

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world,” said Nelson Mandela (1918-2013). The word ‘Education’ is derived from the Latin word ‘Educere,’ which means: “to rear, to lead forth.”

In other words, it is something used to move and propel one forward. With this in mind, one might ask his or her self the question: What is it that leads me forward today? What drives me to think, act, and respond the way I do?

As a young kid growing up on the streets of East San Jose, I never really asked myself this question, nor did I take education seriously. Honestly, as long as I was good at being a criminal, who needed education? I could make hundreds of dollars a week living a life of crime, and I didn’t need a degree for that. So, looking back, being a thug is what motivated me. That’s what propelled me.

I murdered him. I stabbed him fifty-one times in his sleep, and now his name likely evokes in people close to him funny, warm and wonderful memories of a man they still love. And then it evokes pain because they remember, they realize suddenly after a happy thought and a smile that he was brutally taken from them for no real reason. Their guts wrench hard. They are saddened. They are angered. They remember that they are lonely and hurting without the treasured piece of their lives that I so callously took from them – their son, their brother, their friend, Carlos. “It wasn’t his time!” they yell furiously all at God and at me and at nobody… But only nobody hears them.

Obviously, I cannot return that precious heart-piece to them. I cannot bring Carlos back – no matter that I wish more desperately every day that I could. In fact, there is nothing I can ever do to make up for this horrible wrong I committed, I know, or for all the harm I’ve caused. Not with my own blood. Not with a lifetime in prison. For there is no justice for murder. So there is definitely no way for me to justify my actions. Though I have spent many years behind these walls trying do that exactly.

Twenty years ago, as I attended my father’s funeral I was overwhelmed with grief. My way of coping with my feelings was to hold them in. I believed that it was a sign of weakness to cry and to talk about my feelings of loss and grief. I believed it was easier to mask the pain I felt by getting high. 

However, those feeling combined with the other hurts and pains I had bottled up over the years, led me to make the horrific, violent decision to hurt others. I believed that no one cared, and no one understood me. 

I was hurting, plus I wanted others to feel the pain I was feeling. As a result, I murdered two innocent human beings and was sentenced to thirty-four years-to-life. I thought my feelings of past traumas and loss would never go away. 

by Bobby Bostic As I sit back and meditate on the many mistakes that I have made in life, I contemplate on the advice that I would give to my younger self. Then again, I wonder would he listen? My fourteen, fifteen, or sixteen-year-old self, thought he had it all figured out. He rebelled against adults, because in his young mind they didn’t know what they were talking about. How could they, since they couldn’t see the world through his eyes. Ironically, now that I am older I see things differently. When we are young we somehow put it in our

by Thomas Harns If you’re reading this, then I sincerely hope you’ve acknowledged that there may be a few flaws in your plan. And I’m sorry, like me you had to find out the hard way that you are not in control.  For some this is just a time out, a break from the craziness that we thought we could handle so well. For others, it’s going to be a long trip that you probably want to get off right now.  I speak from experience. I’m on my 23rd year in State Prison on a 15 to life sentence.  At eighteen,

by Richard Angulo As a kid, I used to look back on my life and realize I wasn’t dealt the best hand. Danny had a mom and dad that absolutely loved and adored him. His parents were involved in his life, heck, Danny’s mom was a regular on our middle school campus volunteering her time. Sylvia, on the other hand, came from a family that embraced high education. Sylvia’s father went to work every day in a suit and tie. He was the president of his own company while Sylvia’s mom was a high school teacher. While visiting their home, conversations

by Noel Rodriguez My names’ Noel Joe Rodriguez and I’m writing this piece and message to you straight from the penitentiary at Calipatria State Prison, where I am currently serving a sixty to life sentence for two murders. Not something to say or be proud of. I don’t even know how to begin or whether I am even worthy of expressing and sharing my past and thoughts with you all. But I write this message with the hope that what I share will help at least one of you to find a better path in life. At this point in your