“Let's start with this one,” Tay Renée said. She leaned forward in her plastic chair and rolled up the pant leg of her dark green jumpsuit to just below her knee, then rolled down her white tube sock to reveal a little circle with a line through it inked into her skinny, pale leg. She got this tattoo, a small Saturn, with a friend at age 15, two years ago. The anchor on her arm reminds her to remain stable. Her third tattoo, which I won’t detail here, as I’ve been asked to withhold identifying features, reminds her of her 4-year-old brother, whom she hasn’t seen in a year. It does not quite cover the ladder of thick white scars climbing her forearm.
Renée, who chose this pseudonym (we cannot share her real name), had been in Youth Detention Services downtown for a little over a week, waiting on a bed at a rehabilitation facility. On Friday, July 7, she came to this classroom to read poems she wrote during a workshop with Tasha Golden, a researcher who partnered with Sarabande Writing Labs, a program started by local publishing house Sarabande Books that offers writing workshops to underrepresented voices. A Smart Board hung on the front wall, and a poster to the right read in cute, handwritten, multicolored letters: “Adolf Hitler Timeline.” To get to this classroom, I surrendered my voice recorder and hat, went through several security doors, up an elevator and down a hallway redolent of the antiseptic smell common in public school bathrooms. Seven girls had participated in the week-long workshop, and the four still in custody had brought their notebooks and typewritten copies of their poems Golden had transcribed and printed for them. Sarabande will compile these poems in an anthology titled Every Day I Live, I Strive. It will be released in August. You can read Sarabande Writing Labs' past anthologies here.
Staff held up journalists downstairs until the reading had already started, and I walked in just as one girl had finished reading and the small crowd of about 15 people began to applaud. When it was Renée’s turn to read, she stood up and said, “This is about addiction.” “Meth is my monster who never seems to leave,” she read. Staff came in and out of the room as she spoke, keys jangling. A radio grumbled from a guard's hip. They left the door open, and each girls’ soft, rushed words competed with echoing footsteps and voices from the hall.
Two Louisville poets, Kiki Petrosino and Hannah Drake, shared their work. Drake, a performance poet, recited a piece about self love. Renée wiped tears from her face. “Are you crying?” another girl asked loudly, and the whole room turned to see.
After the reading, the girls grabbed paper plates and headed over to a table topped with fruit and vegetable spreads, pizza and cake. As she ate, Renée showed me the collage she’d made with cut-outs from magazines and stuck to the cover of her notebook. “A lot of the girls did models, materialistic things,” she said. “That’s not me.” Instead she’d chosen a photo of a young child reaching up for a big orange in an adult's hand, a symbol of generosity and innocence. A bit of text read: “Rethinking the Needle.” I asked Renée about the image of a cotton plant. “My boyfriend is a heroin addict,” she said, explaining that people use cotton to filter the drug.
Each workshop participant shared a poem with us. You can read them below. The poets’ full names have been withheld.
Don’t Call Me Immature, Call Me Stuck
I get called immature by only a few people
friends, strangers & bystanders
It’s my weak mind that sets them to that
‘cause I speak before I think
& love to wonder
& I feel like I’m stuck in Time.
Don’t call me immature
Call me “stuck”
Call me “curious”
Call me “imaginative”
Call me “Traumatized”
Call me “Sensitive”
But don’t call me immature.
I’m not immature.
I got a weak mind,
I’m stuck in my childhood self.
I’m growing physically,
but I’m stuck in time
mentally & emotionally.
-M. M.
Untitled
If I was a landscape
I would be a beautiful beach.
Have cool sand
nice beautiful water
The water would be blue
and you can see through the water
when you get in.
People would have so much fun
with me.
-H.
You Don’t Know Me
You don’t know how i feel
You don’t know what i want
You don’t know what i do
You don’t know what i see
You don’t know about my past
You don’t know what i’m going thru
You don’t know how bad i wanna go home.
-A.
Dear Mama,
I love you and I appreciate you
for all you do.
I appreciate the fact you taken care of my son
while I’m locked up.
I know I been careless lately
but everything is about to change.
I’m gone try my best
No it’s not gone happen overnight
but soon I’m gone be that daughter
you’re proud of.
It’s time to get my life on track.
I don’t want you to be stressing no more.
I love you.
Love,
-C.
Untitled
I met the monster.
We held hands and sang.
It was fun at first-
then reality came.
I left the monster,
said goodbye for good.
But he followed me again,
and there he stood.
Strong and fierce,
he wouldn’t go away.
He held me down
and forced me to stay.
I tried to leave
again and again,
But there he was
saying we’re friends
I took him back in,
Oh, Silly me.
I thought we would be
a one night fling
But he never left
he stayed, getting strong
while I got weak
all night and day long
two months go by
and I’m rail thin
fighting a battle
I know I won’t win
day after day,
lying about him
no one will know,
I’ll just sneak off again.
Then detox comes
dry heaving air
because I never eat
and I have nothing to spare.
My life is in shambles
my eyes filled with tears
sitting in a jail cell
facing 5 years
meth is my monster
who never seems to leave
he waits in the shadows
manipulating the web he weaves
waiting for the weak
waiting for my time,
to relapse with him
because he calls me “mine.”
-Tay Renée
Untitled
To me I feel that I’ve put a mask on at the age of 12
and took it off while I’ve been detained.
I’m 15 now. I’ve been wearing a black mask,
a thug mask, a gangster mask
to cover up the real me.
I’ve been through a lot,
so I’ve put this mask on
to hide and protect my past.
The mask was so thick and hard
that it took me 3 years to take it off
But once I’ve took this mask off
people can see who I really am.
My family can tell I’ve grown
but now that it’s off
Imma try hard not to put it on.
-“Buddha” D. H.
Stone Cold
guidance was a lack
hurt was a fact
My mother was a loss
and my family turned they back.
-R. T.
Untitled
People only see my outer core
but inside there’s so much more.
artistic, sweet,
funny, & bright
but they blast me with labels
which just isn’t right
I have beauty & brains
& a lot of insight,
but people tend to focus
on what’s on the outside.
I take care of my own
and make sure that they eat,
even when I struggle
and am out on the street
I have love in my heart,
not just drugs in my veins
But all I am is a junkie
and it drives me insane.
-Tay Renée
What Some People Don’t Know
What some people don’t know is
I’m very intelligent
What some people don’t know is
I’m only human
What people don’t know is
I act dumb so people don’t know I’m smart!
What people don’t know is
I feel like life’s a movie full of suspense
What people don’t know is
I have a dad & sister who really cared
-M. M.
(Untitled)
What I need is guidance, support, and company.
I need somebody to say “D____ you falling again.
You need to get back right.”
I need somebody I can trust besides a parent
to talk to.
I want somebody who answers my questions
so that I won’t be confused in times.
I don’t wanna look back in time.
I wanna look straight ahead.
-“Buddha” D. H.
