My misinterpetation of love has caused me more pain then pleasure.

Love was the word she uttered before she told me she could no longer stand by while I suffer this long and lonely death.

Love is what got me here; loving people, places and things that had no feelings.

I want to love, but somewhere along this journey I forgot how.

They love only who they think I am.

They love to hate the real me, the truth to the man that is carefully hidden.

Love- a four letter word in possession of life and death.

Life = emotion

Death = emotionless

Both men and women have mastered delicate arts and none have mastered love.

Love, a beautiful picture that hurts so bad.

Love comes with few truths, and many lies.

Maybe I was better off without ever having familiarized myself with love.

Today, love has done nothing but crush my soul.

Every night before I close my eyes I wonder who loves me. Furthermore, I wonder who cares.

Love wouldn’t steal my dreams, kidnap my hope and strangle my spirit.

In the morning, when I wake, I continue pushing on.

If no one loves me, I know I love my SELF.

Secretary of State John Kerry said on March 22nd that he is “deeply concerned” about Abedini’s fate and about reports that he has suffered abuse.

Advocates for dozens of Iranian Christians are in Evin Prison where inmates have been tortured and beaten. Abedini was arrested in September while working on the development of an orphanage  for Muslim children. He’s written letters to his wife stating that he’s not getting medical attention that other inmates have received because the medical personnel considers him unclean because he is Christian.

After reading this article, I couldn’t help but think: Why is a man who is trying to help others facing such adversity?

The truth is many good men and women throughout history who possessed unconditional kindness were victimized by those who equate the attribute of kindness as a sign of weakness and opportunity for wicked. For instance, the gentleman stops to help a damsel in distress and as he reaches out to her, her boyfriend jumps out the bushes, clubs him in the head and robs him.

Because kindness can be perceived and utilized as vulnerability and weakness, some of refuse to even display any sign or act of kindness out of fear that it may expose us to the possibility of being victimized or taken advantage of. For example: How many times have you seen someone stranded with car trouble and instead of stopping to ask “Do you need some help” (the kind thing to do), you keep on driving thinking “I don’t know him or her. For all I know he could be a serial killer” ?

The more I wite the clearer it becomes to me that words alone could never completely convey the message and understanding I’d like to share with you. But if pen and paper is my only means of personal expression, work with me loved ones.

I find myself in conflict with the “truth” surrounding “Kindness”. It saddens and infuriates me that the world we live in, more often than not, views kindness as weakness and weakness is viewed as strength. I’m reminded of the sayings “good guys never win” and “nice guys finish last”. Basically, Abedini’s kindness toward helping those Iranian orphans was viewed as weakness, which the Iranian authorities used to their advantage in order to incarcerate him and thereby use the act of enforcing their laws as a sign of strength.

Can one argue the fact that all those who possess the power, authority and ability to aid Abedini are actually weak in character, understanding and spirituality? Yet, they validate one another’s actions publicly that what they are doing is based on law, strength and being tough on crime. I know some of you are wondering, “Why is he speaking on behalf of Abedini?” Let me make it clear, his race, sex or religious views have no bearing on why I chose to acknowledge the injustice of his incarceration. The truth is that our world’s met when he became an inmate Evin Prison. I know the abuse he’s facing. I understand what he’s enduring as he prays for the day he sees his family again. I understand all the adversity a man can face while incarcerated.

What many of you don’t know is in prison kindness is like throwing a fluffy rabbit in a den packed with wolves. Albeit, inmate or staff, an inmate who is too kind or compassionate can and will find themselves fighting for liberties, property and maybe even their life. A prison staff who is recognized as being too kind or compassionate toward an inmate’s plight are frowned upon, chastised and bullied as what other officers call “Hug-A-Thugs”. While at USP Big Sandy and establishing the ONEWAY program a staff there who would always assist in the preparation of the visit room where kids from ages 13-17 would come to participate in the program once told me, “Jackson a lot of my coworkers don’t like me helping you guys– they call me a Hug-A-Thug for liking what you guys do to help these kids. If I didn’t see the difference this program is making in those kids’ lives for myself, I probably wouldn’t be helping you.”

Some prison officials see compassion and acts of kindness toward helping to advance an inmate program as a sign of weakness for America’s incarcerated. Not long ago an elder told me about a conversation he overheard between two executive staff concerning the recent murder of  a Bureau of Prisons staff member at U.S.P. Canaan. He explained to me that he heard an executive speak to another executive, “It’s sad how those inmates could just stand there and watch that young officer be stabbed so brutally to death. That’s why I tell these new officers some of these guys who have been down for a long time can be heartless.”

Now here’s an administrator who would have the audacity to say in the same sentence that it’s sad other inmates didn’t help the officer, while he tells new officers how heartless inmates can be. When will it dawn on him that by telling officers that inmates can be heartless what he is teaching the new officer to treat inmates as such and therefore creates “heartless” interaction between staff and inmates. I’ve watched many officers stand by knowing hat inmates were preparing to engage in violent acts of inmate-on-inmate violence. All they did was stand back and watch the blood fly. I feel it’s wrong for administrators to expect that which they don’t do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not justifying either position. What I’m doing is bringing to light the fact that kindness is not the goal to be implemented, supported or reinforced in prison by prisoners or prison officials. Lack of compassion, understanding and humanism is validated, recommended and indoctrinated.

My personal understanding and experience teaches me that kindness takes a combination of strengths that I don’t possess at all times. Unconditional kindness takes: trust, courage, faith, integrity, selflessness, fearlessness, and true knowledge of self. An act of unconditional kindness involve: trusting someone will not take advantage of you; the courage to not doubt your actions; strength to go above and beyond for another; the integrity to do it because you know it’s the right thing t do; the ability to be selfless and know it’s not about you; fearless because you know the end justifies the means and because you know who you are and that being kind is what makes you– YOU!

In a world where our weaknesses as a society ar being celebrated, publicized and rewarded, I hope these words open your eyes to the superior power of kindness.

Although I am not Dei’Ara’s biological father, there isn’t a soul who can tell me different. She is my motivation. Her mother Evelyn and I met when I was 19 years old and she was 28. Unfortunately, the streets got in the way of me having children of my own. But with Dei’Ara I was content. She was 9 years old when I came into her life. Before me there were a couple of male figures around but none who were willing to play the role of father. Prior to me being indicted, Evelyn and I had been a couple for close to two years. In the beginning I was well aware that she and Dei”Ara were a package. With the love and respect I had for her, I was more than willing. Although I had no father duty experience, having my dad around growing up gave me the tools and experiences I needed to prepare.

Patience + Love + Communication = Healthy Relationships

With these keys, Dei’Ara and I clicked without any major struggles. I didn’t use financial means in order to create a bond. Everything came natural. Even though I was a sucker for her pouting and whining, what my daughter and I created left me with no regrets of not producing a child of my own.

After my arrest in 2004, Dei’Ara and I kept in contact through mail, visits and phone calls. Now at 17 years old, Dei’Ara will graduate high school and prepare for college.

One thing us parents fail to realize when things do not work out: it’s about our children. We do not have to like one another or be in a relationship to raise our child together. But respect is a must. Fathers are quickly labeled “dead-beats” without any defense. I’ve witnessed this with a few of my friends. Whenever the mother prevents us from contacting and seeing our children because she hates you or we get on their nerves, or more than likely, we’re with someone else, this isn’t fair to us as fathers but also our children. It shouldn’t take a judge or courtroom for us to have understanding as parents. I believe when we bring others, especially the courts, into our business it heightens the problem. This thickens the line of division between parents.

For us fathers, we play a huge and important role in the lives of our children. We’re idolized by the little ones. I’ve witnessed this first hand with Dei’Ara. It’s the small things. For example: whenever I’d go shopping and purchased a jersey for myself she had to have one.

Disagreement
Arguing and fighting in the presence of our children is a no-go. A shouting match won’t accomplish anything but discomfort in a household.

Favorites
Also, it’s normal and alright for a child to have a favorite and be daddy’s little girl or momma’s boy. This isn’t important. But what it’s important that we do our best to make sure that our kids love both parents. Now when a child hates their mother or father we have a problem. This is unhealthy. We have to communicate. How can we say “we love our children” but hate the other half who played a role in bringing them into this world?

I’ll close with this:
To our fathers, do not allow financial set backs to force you into a life you’ll later regret. We all want and would like to give our children the world but visits behind glass takes a toll. Our youngins need us at home in their lives. And for those of you who didn’t have a father growing up, this alone should give you more reason to wanna be there.

Finally, for those single parents who think it’s hard raising your child/children alone, just imagine the difficulty attempting to raise a child from prison.

Love your children through actions and respect their mothers.

Oh Yeah, he taught me so much,
Tender to my heart he touched.
I clutch it gently,
Then gingerly firm,
Surrendering to misty eyes that burn,
Turning pages over volumes of reflection, reminiscing through wishful rain,
At once I smile at joy and grimace in pain.

Nah Mommy, Nakia, Connie, Carle, Kiara or Brandon don’t know how to tell me.
Like a book, I do read, indeed seeing with understanding clearly,
Still I want to hug and peck them on their cheeks in love, after all we’re family.
Listen to the Isley Brothers with Jimmy
Get to know my cousin Julius and Uncle Gary friendly.

Give a wink to the past,
Daddy I wouldn’t be who I am if you hadn’t whopped my ass,
Graduation wouldn’t have happened, morals wouldn’t be known.
You cut the TV off, while I was watching Yo MTV’s and BET rapping,
I was like damn man why Daddy keep yap yap yapping.
Why don’t he go call somebody on the phone, leave me alone.
Three or four hours straight he spoke,
Without joking quips of son you better listen or you’ll learn the hard way.

Flashing back to traveling the world before you were twenty one,
In the Navy cause of Vietnam,
Saying the prettiest ladies were in Barcelona (Spain);
How hungry people would flock at the dock’s by when came,
Just to eat, scuffling for trash, bragging of smoking the best weed, blowing hash;
Slamming dope and coke to cope with what you seen,
Leaving me in the library for hours, an essay you’d demand,
That’s why I got this pen in my hand.

Uncle Harvey and Jack Miller had the double barrel and twelve gauges cocked,
Yelling put that boy down before I blow your brains out.
Stopped doubtless you did,
When I was just a kid,
Crying like why is Mommy and Daddy cussing and fussing?
Told you was no good,
Your father ain’t nothing,
I took Mommy’s side.

During those rides,
You talked too much about money don’t grow on trees,
And life was rough.

You missed birthdays and Christmases too,
But when you did come through,
You looked out for my mother’s kids.

My sister Nakia
And brother Matthew too;
Daddy, I love you!

In my youth,
Through your tutelage I doggie paddled and breast-stroked by your side,
Ran a mile in the morning,
Played one on one basketball while you were high.

Son, they should legalize marijuana you’d say,
Then stress there’s a higher power,
You should pray.

The Maryland Terps at Cole Field House and Byrd Stadium we’d watch,
At Paul’s we’d eat kosher dogs looking at Mike Tyson box.
Shocked of how you ain’t understand that Hulk Hogan and Big John Studd were real.
Hulk slammed him on the Capital Center’s concrete floor,
With me the electricity you’d feel the roar.
Saw the Bullets lose before they became the Washington Wizards on the same floor.

Reel for reel with Washington Capitals hockey appeal
We’d laugh at Eddie Murphy,
Stomachs ached from Richard Pryor.
Marco be a man and tell the truth, don’t you be no liar
You said at the go cart track screeching tires
In your straw hat, okay I expressed
As you told your story at AA and NA in words
Some of the most fluent speech I heard.

In Lewisburg,
At the help of racism
I experience the picture you’d given.

Mommy cries in love for us both
Wanting a little us to hold in hope
Nope I can’t say it’s over
But the evil ones play in wicked ways that seem to multiply.

Your second child’s
First born boy’s brain is rattled
Chit chatter they do search for a method to have me babbling like a baby
Oh yeah they’re crazy.

Daddy why I ain’t never meet my older sister
Though I don’t know her, I miss her.
Mommy told me first,
You did your best,
I’m stressed and it hurts.

I love my Daddy!
Never met or saw a picture like you of Grand-daddy in Philly.
He’s dead,
But I hope to spend time with the Robertson’s before they kill me and I go
With my murder on my mind.

I recline with thoughts of the “ “ that Granny added knowingly for you and me.
I would’ve smacked Brandon helplessly
If he was in front of me
Like you used to do me,
Knocking down his sex feet two size thirteens
From the response he gave on the call I earned, “he did it to himself”.

I burned,
Knowing full well that’s how you taught him Daddy,
A piece of liver is small for my Daddy’s Hep C tragedy.
Basil, Bilal and Skinny, I took hostage in the rec cage at Coleman II
Crying just dying to talk to you.

I swear by Allah in care,
I sacrificed for you
I’d give my life if it would save you.

Attitude was real never fake when I wrote,
“Please Don’t Kill My Soldier”,
Sending it to Liz straight in Tampa (Florida) for her to recite over the airwaves,
My broadcast wasn’t heard live,
As it was refused,
While it played for me to give you a piece of your flesh to survive.

Mommy said your brother Brandon gonna wish he hadn’t gave Martin that piece of liver,
Though he refused to deliver,
Every mistake you made with me you were certain not to make with him.

Sad,
As I stroke this pen in the pen,
Prostrating thinking of when you told me about your prostate
All you could do is eat,
Clenching diabetic snacks through your teeth
I don’t care
Whatever it was you’re loved
Daddy you’re equally pure to me.

Secure in Quranic teachings you’re the best of companions behind Mommy,
Too bad we couldn’t have been better friends,
Blending in yeses,
I got a bunch of regrets
I sweat with tears,
Searching for a way to replace those lost years.

Daddy you got my forever days
I’ll never ever give your heart, soul and body or liver away.
I’ll continue to fix my permanent gaze on that night star that’s you in the darkest sky outside my every window’s view always. I love my Daddy Martin Wardell Robertson’s day is every day!!!

A Dedication To My Main Man by Marco Miguel

Marco Robertson #62151066
USP Lewisburg
P.O. Box 1000
Lewisburg, PA 17837

Some say that all Federal Special Housing Units are the same. Once upon a time I would have agreed, but allow me to “hip” you to why this isn’t true. Doing 23 and 1 time here in Victorville is hard time. This is a world of its own.

Most of the time we are served burnt food. To our knowledge, if we are talking lunch trays, the meals arrive around 10:30am and are stored in a hot box where they remain for up to two hours. Need I remind you the food arrives already cooked. After being reheated for two hours, we still don’t get fed until one o’clock and a lot of the time, later. We’re often served burnt rice, dry vegetables and even burnt oatmeal. How do you burn oatmeal?

Around the Federal system, most solitary units serve the meals out of similar trays. These trays are about a foot long and six inches wide. The trays are usually packed with food. Welcome to Victorville where the trays are half their normal size and portions are like snacks. The bread is stale and the milk is spoiled. The air conditioner only works on one side of the building. Imagine being in the cell with other men.

When does it stop?

Inside these cells there’s a shower, desk, sink connected to a toilet, and a bunk bed. A bunk bed for two. Now imagine having a third man as a roommate. He has no choice but to sleep on “half of a mattress” or the floor. The only space is near the door and inches from the toilet. When one of us has to use the bathroom, the third man either has to cover up with his blanket or stand by the shower and respect the very little privacy we have. When one of us is standing, urine will more than likely splash on the third man’s mattress. Many have “bucked” a third cellmate.

The results?

Imagine being shot by rubber bullets, while being sprayed with pepper spray, followed by eight C.O.s in suits with shields rushing you. There is nothing in the Bureau of Prison’s policy statement that states three men have to be in one cell. There have been other ways to buck. A way that I disagree with. There are those who accept the third man then beat him severely. There have been countless incidents at other prisons where the “three to a cell” was enforced.

Let’s take Big Sandy for instance. Back in 2006 it was reported during an ongoing beef between D.C. inmates and Blood members that a D.C. inmate was forced into a cell with two Bloods. After being forced into the cell, the D.C. inmate was reportedly beaten to death. It was days later when this inmate was discovered.

Around 2007-2008 when the prison was considered “Bloody Beaumont” out in Texas, it took a few murders for the staff to realize three men in a cell was not working. So, is this what it takes? Guys have to kill one another before someone starts listening?

When does it stop?

Victorville where inmates are forced to sleep on paper sheets for supposedly misbehaving. If I’m caught with a clothes line up, I’ll be punished with paper sheets for seven days. But this is a risk that I am willing to take. Recently, laundry was done for the first time in a month! We recently were issued clean sheets for the first time in three weeks. We hang these clothes lines because we have better chances washing our clothes and linen ourselves. We’re basically being punished for not depending on the staff to do their job.

When does it stop?

Well, hopefully, soon. But out here in the desert, things only get worse. When one arrives here in solitary, he must wait thirty days before he’s given any personal property. But more than likely, those thirty days will turn into a few months. And this is if he has any property left. Just in case I lost you in the last sentence, walk with me..

There are three orderlies who are ll responsible for cleaning the ranges, doing laundry and loading trays. They’re all Mexican. We’ve had one Black orderly in the past and he was fired for defending himself against another orderly who is still working. Now just imagine being behind a cell door and watching the orderly walk by pushing a broom while wearing a pair of your shoes. Better yet, imagine not receiving a magazine you ordered months ago until the orderly comes around with hopes of selling it to you or anyone else. Here in solitary coffee is restricted. It isn’t sold in canteen, nor is it issued as part of breakfast. Our only shot at coffee is when the orderlies come by with it for sale. Nine times out of ten it is usually coffee from your property or or the man in the cell next to you. Here in Victorville, as well as many other solitary units, the C.O.s give some of our property away to the orderlies. But what can we do in an environment where we are forced to keep our mouths shut? It isn’t safe to be labeled a snitch in this environment. So, just like the animals we’re treated as, we’re forced to tuck our tails. Welcome to Victorville.

It doesn’t stop.

God willing, I hope this finds you in the very best of overall spirits! I cling to my faith and turn to Allah in this trying time. Yes, I’m in a jihad (struggle) with myself and caught up in the reveling fires of multiple indifferences and caught in the crosshairs of racism. Please accept my humble apologies for being away so long, and I do humbly request that you pray for me. God willing, I will pray for you. May Allah guide you to the straight way and/or make you ascend upon it!!! Amin (Amen) Leaving you…

Surah (Chapter) 21 Al Anbiya (The Prophets) Ayahs (Verses) 83-84
And remember Ayub (Job) when he cried to his lord: “Verily, distress has seized me, and you are the Most MErciful of all those who show mercy.” So We answered his call, and We removed the distress that was on him (that he had lost), and the like thereof along with them,– as a mercy from ourselves and a reminder for all who worship us.
Taken from The Noble Quran

Where the lost and turned out can turn to
A place where they could learn to
See outside their malevolent box
Of criminal schemes and peddling rocks.

Reflecting the message that I bring
Through all that I achieve
Define desire and what it means
To never doubt and disbelieve

Go overboard for the overboard!
Whom needs more, when we expect more–
Replace the pain and sorrow of being poor
With the pride and strength of having endured

The impossible is just an obstacle for those with imagination,
Would be my slogan
For the ex-con with a dream to grow, I’d show him
Opportunity’s door is always open

Be a leader, leading by example
Setting the stage for a better age

I’d change the economics of morality, unselfish love and how it’s measured
And give the glory to God all mighty– for teaching me the secret to adversity’s treasure.

I’d travel the world and back taking pictures of all the different races
Remembering the time I spent in prison– where I had seen these same familiar faces

I would speak for the disgraced and let the world know, some of us truly didn’t know no better
I’d fight for legislation to bring back parole a.k.a. hope and to all with power I’d write a letter

I’d be what great men before me had been and uphold and extend their legacy
I wonder if Jesus shared the same thoughts as he hung from the cross as me.

Lost,
Not only prized possessions, but a love i once knew.
Time,
only an enemy,
Creeping courageously upon my future
Tomorrow,
What awaits?
Yet another storm

Calamity, chaos and confusion
The roof over my head comes with barbed wire, gun towers, shanks, and right before the storm……silence!
The storm twists and topples my surroundings,
Pinning men into rage.
Even at this very moment I have to keep my eyes open but cover my ears as the thunderous eruptions of prison become deafening

Quiet……..
can can you hear?
With the storm comes yells, screams and men crying and pleading for yet another chance.
It never comes.
Because the storm has come!

Hopelessness is a dangerous feeling. So dangerous in fact, the first casualty of hopelessness is yourself. The morality and care for human life gets overtaken by a sense of being overwhelmed by a bunch of situations that you just cannot deal with at the time. And you may not know how to get help, you may assume no one else understands you or you may not even want help. So, you’ll just play your end until the candle light burns out.

Unfortunately, this hurts many people in the process. It hurts you, those who care for you and those who you just happen to cross your path at the wrong time. Therefore, if you’re an angry person find a reasonable way to get rid of all the reasons, or the lack thereof, for you to feel numb to other people’s pain.

That’s how I was. Once I saw my mother not living up to her duties, I took on a feeling of no one being able to tell me what to do. By the time my grandparents took me in the damage was already done. In a way it’s all suicide. The way we carry on is like living to die; not living to live. Often we have no boundaries, or conscience towards the way we abuse self until, unfortunately, it is too late most times. Hope that isn’t you too…Stay strong!!

The following article by Rick Hepp and Jonathan Schuppe originally appeared in the Star-Ledger on June 21, 2006. Alford’s hand-written notes can be seen in the margins. Alford promises there’s more to come in regards to this story and urges the public “don’t believe the hype.”