Writings from Death Row
From Texas Death Row, Mabry continues to write.
Through poetry and personal reflections he shares his perspective and resilience. We share some of his writings to offer a deeper insight into the person beyond the headlines.
Burdensome
Anyone with a sliver of consciousness about doing time, be it awaiting a ruling in the appelate phase on Death Row, having decades of time to do or life without parole, understands the weight we put on our loved ones. Support in any way, at some point, becomes a burden, Of course perspectives play a huge role, but the truth still stands: liabilities are something/ someone to be responsible for.
A compassionate heart, as well as the owner of said heart,gets it. Even when the burden becomes so painful and stressful that the proper perspective is lost. When the people you love begin to take the anxiety and ambition towards a goal as entitlement to their time and resources. How hurtful is it to hear the words "You're ungrateful" or "you're using me"? It's a different aspect of doing time - to feel helpless and not in a position to show your loved one a different version of yourself - other than the one that needs this, that and the third. Like, somewhere in all that it's forgotten that they're truly loved and cherished.
There is another dynamic to the disease of burden. The loved one that never loses perspective of the situation and how much you love and appreciate them. Only the burden they carry is the stress that comes from your absence. Worrying what will come of the situation - all while dealing with bills, health issues...while dealing with life.
I want to suggest to anyone to take your time, thoroughly evaluate the situation. Try to see and understand the intent and purpose of certain decisions and words, and just try to see and feel the essence of your relationship with your loved ones. Things aren't as they seem at times - no matter how strong the feeling. Ultimately, being hehind the wall, we can get it wrong in how our loved ones see us. We can feel insecure about receving support. At the same time, our loved ones can get it wrong as well by thinking their purpose is only in the kind of resources. Sometimes we lose sense of each other's value to one another.
It's imperative we not let the situation win. Sometimes burdens can be the adverse, determining factor of our character. How we deal with it is our choice. Love is patient - it bears all things.
What about me?
When going through trials and tribulations, taking all the blows that life throws at you, it's easy to mutter those three words that make up the question: What about me? Possible the two words that make up another question: Why me?
We may fall victim to comparison. Looking over the proverbial fence and wondering why their grass is green and ours isn't. We tire of hearing clichés like, "God doesn't give us more than we can handle". Or, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger".
What I have to remind myself through the chaos is, we all have different paths. We all go through phases that necessitate a positive outlook - IF we want to transition. The neighbor with the greener grass may have been at the maintenance of their yard longer. Perhaps they've went through their own phases that essentially enabled their grass to shine.
Life is pain, but it's also so many things. I've learned, with a positive mindset, pain can morph into a prize. Developing something in you so valuable you become an asset - a treasure to the company you keep.
That nurturing energy that inspires others to be their best them. How you can share your blessings of being able to recognize the lesson in a loss. Seeing hard times as only a phase that will pass. So, to the questions, why me or what about me? The pain is life happening in real time. Why not you?Being the best you in a bad situation is all about YOU - and how you perceive the perspective of opportunity.
Solitude
Secluded in solitude, concrete walls wrapping me in its cold embrace. Shadows from chicken wire that fashions the door, shadows my face.
The longing mask that's replaces my identity is evidence of a man misplaced. From my bunk to the door I pace, thoughts of the administration's corruption and how easily their mistakes erased.
The judicial system and its "harmless error" disgraced. Justice...
Yeah, they are all dirty!
Pointing their hypocritical fingers attempting to justify hurting me. Still, I remain hopeful in post conviction that my appeal to the court will warrant relief.
Suffering extreme anxiety, yet with the patience of a monk. Proof in my chosen alternative to pace the length between the door and the bunk. Inside I'm screaming, channeling my pain in excessive sets of push ups. The man of steel, but does my tearns turn me to rust? I think so.
That's why tears don't go. It's been a while since I cried.
Emotionally retarded like a part of me has died.
Am I going crazy?
Am I still the hero to my babies?
While in captivity it seems my thoughts are prolific fruitful in the sense of insanity, the redudancy seemingly won't quit. All by myself it seems. Only a selected few prior to my 16 1/2 years gone that's still seen. And even the visits are far and few in between.
So I dream. When times were better and what I could've been. While lost on Death Row, in my dreams I win.
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