Behind doors of steal and walls of concret, is were the forgotten ones sleep. Discarded and ridiculed by one who are just as human as ourselves. Sentenced to hours, days, months, years, decades. Locked down, and counted like cattle from day to night, this is were we mentally fight our fight. Remember the ones that said they were our friends, and that they would be there through thick and thin, only to look up and see them disappear with the wind. I know you wonder, like I, how can someone forget a friend. I shake my head in disappointment but I will never let it drop, always keeping it tilted towards the top. Patiently waiting on my moment. Because I like all of “the forgotten ones” have a lot to say. I wonder why do they call a “human warehouse” a place for rehabilitation?
Putting a person in seclusion only makes them worst, being forced into captivity only makes them hurt, being shoved away into storage doesn’t work.
I speak for “the forgotten ones” when I say 85% of us just want a second chance to make it.
We rehabilitate ourselves, not the system, and half of us do so in the first year. We have some of the biggest voices and influences, but they want us to remain forgotten so we can’t use our gifts. But me, I go around that, and push my gift from behind the concret road block. Uplifting, motivating, and encouraging the free, and the forgotten, that’s the only way we can stop this…
Now this all of this being said, how can you NOT be forgotten?
