From a broken home to the prison. This is a true-crime story that you most likely have never heard before.
I am going to go back in time and tell you my life’s story as far as I can remember. For you to look into the whole story, not just the one tragic event. It’s been a rough ride along a rocky road, which has me currently confined to a cell behind the walls and fences of an American prison. Though I am still breathing, I am serving a life without parole sentence.
As far back as I can remember, my life has been defined by uncertainty as my earliest memories consist of parents who were at odds with one another. This story begins in a broken home, being raised by a single mother struggling to make it. I was an only child, and when my folks first split, it was ugly; they hated each other. I saw my pops about every other weekend, and I always hoped to go there more.
As a young kid, I was torn between my mother and father, and it seemed to be like a game of tug of war. I didn’t really understand what was happening at the time. I think this sort of thing happens a lot with children in broken homes. The kid gets caught in the middle. It is weird how we often remember the traumatizing things vs. the good times. Like playing baseball, riding horses, or going snow skiing.
My mom lived in the country, and my dad in a trailer park. They were both low middle working-class folks. I spent a lot of time with friends and family or on my own. As I got older, I started to gravitate towards my older cousins, who I discovered were deeply involved in not-so-legal activities. As I started to become aware of vices like cigarettes, liquor, and weed, amongst others, I started to partake at a very young age.
My song “Disperse This” is about these early years and the progression of problematic behavior. Looking back, I realize what happened when I got pulled into these activities and this lifestyle that I found alluring because it took me away from this broken home. Surrounded by all that conflict, it felt good, like it made everything better.
Every chance I got, I was gone from the house. The progression of events was taking me deeper and deeper into a dark place that would ultimately land me in prison, serving a life sentence. My life has been filled with pain from as far back as I can remember.
Whether music, painting, drawing, or writing, my art draws from my experiences. It is ultimately an expression, as I have found such therapy in art. Perhaps this is a sad story, filled with a whole lot of terrible events followed by a series of horrible choices. However, this story does arrive at a point where redemption emerges through the dark foggy moonlight.