Hello, everybody. Stephen Lynn Nicholson here again in Jackson, Michigan. As always, support prisonradio.org. Support the Prison Creative Arts Project at the University of Michigan. This poem is called, “Still Hurts.” Just for context purposes, I mention my brother Luke in here. That’s my little brother. He passed away. I mention my old dog Hooch, like old Boxer I used to have, and my children Ella Grace, and Cash Lucas. Obviously, P-C-A-P, PCAP, that’s the Prison Creative Arts Project in Michigan. And, my friend Shravi. Those are just for context so nobody’s confused when they hear this poem. This is “Still Hurts.”
My dad ain’t in the dirt, but he was burnt.
It still hurts.
Pops popped when we popped off.
Thank God he stopped getting drunk off the pop off.
It still hurts.
Baby sister,
I hear whispers from demons
Who couldn’t get you from the day that you were delivered.
They still are sending hitters.
I know that still hurts.
Luke’s gone.
It still hurts.
Hooch is gone.
It still hurts.
Ella Grace and Cash Lucas, gone.
It still hurts.
Occasionally crushes, so yeah, it still hurts.
Truth is around, but nearly gone.
That still hurts.
Smoke screens abound.
They ain’t gone.
That still hurts.
L-I-F-E with no parole for me.
Yeah, that still hurts.
Sin from you and me
Slapping Jesus’s sacrifice for you and me,
That still hurts.
Never really lonely, cause Jesus is my homie,
But really, I’m still stuck here, lonely.
That still hurts.
Friends galore before incarceration.
So many friends no more, can feel like devastation.
It still hurts.
Special relation to family, and the PCAP nation,
But it’s straining due to death by incarceration that I’m facing.
That still hurts.
People with love for me, but can’t really love me.
That still hurts.
I love the dreams of the kings and queens on my team.
Dream for me since MDOC’s trying to crush my dreams.
That still hurts.
I occasionally have dreams of love for those who love me.
They’re few and farther in between.
It still hurts.
Time can’t get to me.
Does it get to you?
Don’t let me lose you.
That goes for all of you.
What a thought.
And that still hurts.
Dream of me.
Dream for me.
Don’t let go of me.
That thought for you has potential to,
In the future, make you see —
It still hurts.
Shravi, you got love for me,
But what are your dreams, Shravi?
They’re important to me.
Are they ever about me?
I do dream of you—lucidly, tastefully,
With all of the pure love I have in me.
Even if we’re just friendly, you’re never secondary.
So guard your heart like a vimana,
Cause I occasionally worry for what’s impending,
And that still hurts.
You know what’s tasty to me?
Simplicity, excellency.
Similarly, Mexicantown in the D,
At Xochimilco’s.
They got the Muenster cheese with guacamole
And fresh chips fried crispy.
I can taste them like they’re between my teeth.
That still hurts.
Being a simple man with a simple plan
Now aligned with the master plan
Brings a much lament about what could have been,
And that still hurts.
Doing my best,
Hope for the best.
Don’t know what’s next,
But I trust and I won’t regress.
Still, that still hurts.
I do know what’s next in the eternal sense.
Still, sometimes I want the finest of friends,
Like my favorite, favorite.
And that still hurts.
That still hurts.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
