From the Iowa Prison Writing Project

Here Lies Davontae…

A son, a brother, a friend. Robbed of his childhood, thrown into sin.

Good-bye friend, good-bye to sacrificing yourself to satisfy another’s morals.

Here I set at six thirty AM, watching TV in a box seeing a child enjoy the 

company of his uncle, his “father figure.”

Why couldn’t “he” have had that? Why didn’t he serve that?

Is this the price for his sacrifice? Why wasn’t “he” deserving of a mother who

wanted more for her son than just a box with a lock for him? A father who would’ve fought

for him?

Instead he was given truth, cold hearted truth. (No one gave a fuck for him.) His 

basket with the fruit. Thus I was born.

Our fight is over, “your” fight is over…You are free! Free to be a child. Free to no

longer care!

All this time no one has felt for you, no one has cared for you and no one

protected you!

I, will protect you, I, will care for you and I…Will feel for you.

You, my friend, are free. Free to live your life, have back what you were robbed of!

Again, I say, this is not good-bye. This, is merely good-night.

Here lies Davontae…A brave young soul ahead of his time

Always and forever, my child inside soon to be born again, my future’s surprise.

Here lies Davontae…Good-night, one last time.