Writings and poems from Ponell Johnson

-Just another day in the life of...
Posted in the spot got a cut about a zip or two
Junkies want the crumbs while the roaches eat the residue
Louisville is the city when I talk about back home
Hustling was my heart while the pimping was my back bone
At seventeen I hustled hard pulling them all nighters
I stay alert cuz dope fiends plot while playing with they lighters
Back then there was nothing you could tell me
A dream you could sell me
I was surrounded by so much fake shit
Only the real could've felt me
the streets keep me going while my minds stuck in a zone
keep on maintainin and develop some habits of my own
The syrup had me knocked out sleeping on the pavement
Woke up in the morning by the Housing Authority Maintenance
Checking all my pockets but you know that they are empty
moneys in my sock cuz I'm not slipping when I'm bent G
Another day, Same Block, Same Game, No Hope
Money on, Live Hard, Smoke Weed, Sell Dope
P. Johnson


Dreams and Shackles
Basketball, chow hall, C.O.'s and jack mackerals
I'm talking bout this life in the day of the shackles
Send my type away cuz courts claim they can't handle us
been locked up for some months now it's turning into calendars
Man I done beated and cheated trapped in the system defeated
I need to head back to the street to plant this dream that I seeded
A little times all I needed to make my goals all completed
But then I got hymned up and then my charge superceded
So here I am like Wyclef I'll be gone til November
But that was 4 years ago now it's going on December
I can remember days when I got money the feeling itself euphoric
Now I'm trapped in the system my past life pre-historic
At times I get upset almost to the point of profanity
It's like I'm caught up in a race to keep up with my sanity
This here's a short poem just a moment of your attention
About my dreams locked up in shackles, chains are it's tension
P. Johnson

BIO:
My name's Ponell Johnson. I'm 26 years old, bi-racial (white and black) and from Louisville, KY. I have under a year to do on my federal sentence, I'll be at the halfway house in May. I was convicted on a counterfeiting conspiracy and have been incarcerated over three years. This is my first entry, as far as writing ya'll, so I'll just write what's marinating in my mind and let it flow from there.
Moms sent me a letter today from rehab. As far as I can recall, she's always been addicted to crack cocaine but in the recent years it's been alcohol. She wrote me like four months ago and assured me that she was doing okay. I've wrote back a few times since then and haven't got a response until now. There are two things that perturb me about this situation. The first being she promises that this is her last time relapsing. What ? You know how many times she's apologized and promised us no more drugs after a couple day crack binge? So am I supposed to belive her now? More important, why does she always write me when it's convient for her? I've been worried about her for months now. I have to send people to check on her. I'm locked up in a whole other state (Maryland) from Kentucky. That shit ain't cool at all. I'm writing her tonight though. She's still momma, and I'm with her no matter what. The way she stays in touch with me is petty and it upsets me. I'll let ya'll know how that goes in the future. In the meantime, this is some of the shit I deal with. So close to being back on the streets...