A Selection of Ambassador Journal Entries
The World is a Game
I’m a 16-year-old boy who sees the world as a game, and I’m one of its players. I walk around sometimes mad at the world, so I keep my head down and my hood over my head. I hate attention when I really don’t deserve it. I’m the type of young man who leaves his heart and feelings at home locked deep and hidden away. To be honest, I would really like to take my feelings and emotions, set them on fire, shoot them to death, and bury them. I have cool memories filled with outstanding goals, but those wipe away very quickly. I’m basically the type of boy who hates the morning and loves the darkness, one who sits high above the ground and stares at the dark sky filled with stars and the moon. I’d rather be alone then be around a group of kids. I cherish very little: my family, football, and music. Football is basically a way to get all my anger out, so I would describe it as a medicine. Now, don’t get me wrong, Christ has always been in my life. My grandfather raised me in his own church, so me being Christian is 100%.
On May 28th
, 2010 I was taking a nap. My mom woke me saying, “I think the Hooker boys was on the news about a killing.” I thought she was tripping or mistaking them for somebody, so I went back to sleep. Around 10 pm I watched the news and saw the news report saying what my momma said was true. My brother’s friend and his friend were shot, their arms and legs cut off, put in a trash bag and put in a grocery cart behind a vacant house. Their car was found on 55th
and Oakley, shot up and burned. I was in shock. No tears. No emotions. Just stuck. The next day I went to a wedding, but I was still in disbelief about them. How do you cope with that? How should I feel? What should I do?
I Empower Myself
No one has empowered me, so I empower myself. It’s been times when I’ve been told I’m not going to amount to nothing. But I looked past it all. I won’t be nothing. I’m not going nowhere in life. I look at ways to improve myself and keep pushing until I reach my goals. When I was younger I used to wanna give up, but someone once told me that God won’t give me something I can’t handle, so I keep believing in myself, no letting negativity pull me down, learning from every mistake I make.
My perfect world is when I can go places and wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed or seeing someone getting killed. I wanna be able to sleep at night without hearing gunshots. I wish everybody can live forever, because sometimes your loved ones you wouldn’t wanna let them go. My perfect world is everybody is peaceful, everybody get along with everybody, because the world be a better place without gangs or violence, but even thou this perfect world isn’t here right now, I still pray for it to come. I will never lose hope.
Sick of It
Fuck it. I’m sick of being here. I can’t take it. Jobs aint hiring, and they trying to make it hard for me to support my baby. Lately I been working on doing things on my own, and I been kind of busy, so I aint been picking up the phone. Heaven would be a better place then being here on earth. Home is a place I would like to call heaven, cause up there you aint got to worry bout niggas gossiping and the other niggas jeffing. Blessings is what I call waking up every day with clothes on yo back, shoes on yo feet and food on yo plate.
In a Perfect World
My perfect world is a world where abortion doesn’t exist. My perfect world is a world where a black man would take care of his responsibilities and wouldn’t wish his kids were never born. My perfect world is a world where a 15-year-old girl is not being pimped out by her mama or step daddy just because they need money. My perfect world is a world where a black 16-year-old male does not have to remember the days he spent in a foster home abused, no food, and hand me downs. My perfect world is where AIDS doesn’t exist or where disease is not spread through sexual contact. My perfect world is a world where you can walk around with a smile on your face and your head held high. My perfect world is where I can look at my mom and she would be proud of me. My perfect world is a world with peace and silence, a place that I can just go sit down and relax, where I can walk outside and not have the risk of being shot, because I’m wearing a certain color. Even though this perfect world will never exist, I wish it could.
What is Love?
Should I question love? What should it mean to me? I’ve been hurt so many times it feels like I need to find love somewhere else. You can’t love unless you love your self, so to me, I love you, because without you, who would I be? This is a letter to myself. I love me, because I don’t care what people think of me. My opinion is the only one that counts. If people think I’m ugly, I tell them thank you, because I know who I am inside, and I’m sure my outside matches the inside. I love me, because I can be smart. I always have a smile on my face, because sticks and stones may break my bones, but no one’s words will ever hurt me. I love me, because when people call me gay I don’t have to react, because I love me for me, and only I know what I am. I love me, because I don’t think I will ever have to feel judged by my family if I am gay or not. People love me for me, because I am loving, kind, caring and fun spirited. I answer to no one but myself, and if I don’t like it, I don’t have to do it, because I am and will always be my own person. I will yell the words out to the world, because I love me for who I am. If people can’t accept it then they don‘t have to. If you hate me because of the way I act or the attitude I carry then go fuck yourself, because I’m gonna do what Jesus would do and turn the other cheek. If you can love me for being me, then why can’t I? Why am I so scared to tell people how I feel or what I really want to say? Why can’t I tell someone that I’m gay without them passing judgment on me before they get to know me or get to know the real me? I will never judge you for being who you are, because that is just a part of being you. If no one likes it then they don’t have to. I start today. I start here and now saying I love me. I love me. I love me. I love me, because I’m not ashamed of the person that I am. Who would I be if I had that kind of attitude? I will always be me. I like myself, and today I come out to the world and to my mother, and if no one likes it then they can deal with it. I don’t care.
My neighborhood is messy and dirty. During the day it’s filled with crack heads playing cards, yelling down the block. Kids never have dreams; they are just living by the day.
I live on a street called “Park” where I see some good and some insane. It’s like Park is two worlds. Up the street on my block it’s like daytime shines. Looking down the street I see darkness. I hear screams, and yet I walk down that way. I choose to walk down that way. Maybe someone will care. Maybe someone will notice me and say, “Stop! You’re going down the wrong path. You are in this predicament. You have a lot to live for.” Going down 33rd
and Park is like going down a one-way trip to hell. Must I see evil, hear evil, do evil as I see other’s do? Must I stay on the sunshine block when the sun is only day and dark is night? Why must my family argue day and night? Why must I be scared to walk outside? Is it because of PARK? P.A.R.K. – People Around Here are Crazy. Do I be apart of it and never look back? Am I leaving or am I staying? Maybe I’m hiding behind PARK. Maybe it’s just me. I lost someone who was a part of me. I was 16 and got pregnant. I did not tell anyone. The only people that knew were a close friend and the man who got me pregnant. I hid it.
For 6 months I struggled through the hard hot summer with no meds. I could have been dead with a living baby in me just because I was scared, scared to tell, scared to find out what my mom would do. I blame fear. It took over me. The 22nd
of September was the worst. I told my momma I had a secret, and she found out I was pregnant. She rushed me to the hospital, and I stayed for 3 months. I lost my son on November 8th
. Painful, hurtful, I put my life into having him, and I lost him. Why God? Never question him. It was for a reason, and I can’t blame him. So, may he rest in peace. I love him always tatted on my right hand.
We only have three drug houses on my street. I’ve only been in two. It sounds weird, but I felt safe.
The American Dream
The question now – what is the purpose of the “American Dream?” The world is PERFECT! If there is no longer anything to strive for or work for, opinions no longer matter.
In a perfect world, there would be no need for a job, need for money, or a need for a need. The reality of realization would be made aware. The meaning of knowledge and learning would be known. In a perfect world, people wouldn’t necessarily know what perfect is. Everything is handed to you, and there are no life lessons learned. In a perfect world the sun would always shine, never a rainy day to help grass grow, no real need for communication if all is in order. No understanding of struggle or even concern for others. In a perfect world effort would be effortless. In a perfect world love is not abused, but what again is the meaning of love? What is the meaning, purpose, understanding, concern, reason, and reality of anything if the world is PERFECT? The world is made perfectly already – it’s our job not to destroy it. The situations and obstacles we go through in life are not perfect for a reason, so we can have a life and learn from it and learn from the lives of others; which will be better when a better world exists.
Where I Sleep
When I lived with my mom I was four when I started sleeping in a chair. I slept well in the chair, but there wasn’t that much room to move in it, so I would lose some sleep. I wouldn’t care, because I had a TV to watch. I was sleeping in a chair until I was 8 years old.
Then I got stuck in a group home called Gillis. Gillis was nice, but their beds were terrible. The bed frame was made out of metal and the mattress was half the thickness of regular beds. You had to share rooms. I didn’t sleep that much, because I didn’t trust my roommate. I left Gillis at the age of twelve.
Then I was placed in a foster home. The parents there are really nice. It’s just their kids that I hate, because they want me to do stuff for them. My room is on the third floor. It feels good in the winter, but it’s hot in the summer. My bed is really soft, and I get enough sleep in my bed. I have lived in this house for over four years, and I’m still living in this house.
My biggest fear everyday is for me to forget where I came from and who I really am. I am from Kansas City, and I am a young lady with purpose and dreams. I was taught to work for what I want and when it’s just given to me, I give back.
You seem to be struggling with a lot of things. You seem to loose someone on you everyday, and you are constantly dealing with disasters. Oh world, how can you deal so calmly with such pain no one else can bear? I envy you world. You get to take care of so many people. You shoulder the weight of every single thing on you. You remain beautiful in both inside and outside your atmospheres. I could never be you, though, world. It seems as if you are heading towards a dark place that mainly elders leave to. You seem to be at your limit world. I wonder why though? Most likely because you’re being poisoned somehow, surely. You are being hurt somehow, but what is hurting you? What is poisoning you world? Could it be those who you are protecting from the darkness of space? Oh, what an ironic yet poetic death. Just picturing such a horrid thing could keep me up at night. World, you are dying aren’t you? You are suffering greatly from those who take you for granted. You’re beginning to fail at protecting us from the harsh rays of the sun. Soon you will fail at your beautiful ability to cleanse the air we breathe. World, I pity you, for your death will be as if a bomb from within, exploding and spreading poisonous gas everywhere. Dying from the inside. My sorrow for you can hold no bounds, and my remorse for the things I have done to you cannot be compared, for I have not helped. I am sorry to say, but I cannot be at your funeral, because if you die we die too, and trust me, not just on the inside. I mean really – we’re freakin’ dead if you die!
The Sperm Donor
He looks at me with his eyes full of hatred and disgust. Is that the way a father should look at his beloved daughter? Ha, who am I kidding? I’m not his daughter; in his eyes I’m a worthless piece of shit. In my eyes he’s a sorry excuse of a father. He’s not my dad. He’s just the sperm donor and I’m his MISTAKE.
I am a 14-year-old male, ¼ black, ¼ white and
the other half Native American.
I’m part of the Miami Indian tribe.
I want to have a career in the law enforcement.
I was adopted at the age of five.
Before that it was just me and my sister moving from foster home to foster home.
As I watch them fight, I watch her bleed, deeper, deeper. It doesn’t hurt. There is no pain. Her life will never be the same. It’s hard to keep this secret when it is written all over her, all over her body the scars, the cuts, the blood. I know she shouldn’t do it. I know it is wrong, but it’s the only way to relieve her pain after what she did, after all that happened. She looks in the mirror – it’s not her. Who is this she’s looking at? I know it’s a killer; it’s a cutter, a stab in the back with a dagger. If she could, she would drown in a world of pain, but she can’t. She couldn’t handle it, so she cuts. I see the blood on her arms, on her wrist, the feel of the blade, the feel of the cut. I watch as they yell. I watch as she cuts. I know she should stop. But she can’t stop, not now, not ever. As I watch in horror, she cuts with ease. Pain turns into pleasure and that pleasure is better than any pain could be. She finally stops and takes a breath. Her adrenalin is pumping, her hormones racing. Whey she started, why did she stop, when will it end, when will it begin?
Juvenile Detention Center
It was me, my best friend, my ex-best friend and we were the boredest of bored. My ex-best friend thought up something really stupid. He wanted to break into a store after they closed. Like idiots, we said let’s do it. So we planned, very well planned. I mean the way our brains worked when we planned was just unbelievable. After three days of planning we were ready. We suited up in all black and talaband. Before we left, we made an agreement, no snitching. If any of us were caught snitching or even heard of snitching, we were going to put that person on ice. We walked down to the store, looked around, made sure no cars were coming, then one of us broke the window. Then we all went in and took, took, took. Then we ran out the store and didn’t stop running until we got to the broken brig. The first time we did it was super scary. We stayed in the broken brig for a few minutes and checked out what we had. Me, I had phones, all touch screens. We said we would never do it again, but it got so addictive. We did it about three more times, until we almost got caught. Then we were all at school right, and everybody was like, “The police are coming to get y’all,” and we was just like whatever. Next thing I know, one of my friends that I hit the lick with wasn’t in class. I’m like, “Where is he at?” Everybody was, “The police got him.” So, I’m like, “Oh, crap.” Then the next day during class I went to go pee. Then the school security came to me and was like, “Go to the office.” So I go to the office, and the police is there. My first thought was to run like hell, but I didn’t, cause I was just too shocked. They asked if I was a certain person, and I wanted to say no, but I was like yea. They slapped the cuffs on me and read me my rights. Then just when we were about to leave, the passing bell rang. I was like dang! Everybody seen me get tooken to jail. I kinda felt like a king tho, I’m not going to lie. After two and a half weeks in JDC I got out. They put me on house arrest and a year and a half of probation, gave me 30 hours of community service, and all three of us had to pay $5,000. So, when I got back to school I was a king. Everybody worshiped me. Everybody feared us. To be honest, it kinda felt good, but I learned my lesson. Never tell people what you do!
I’m Hispanic. People say I act white. What is white? Yes, I love to wear gladiators. Yes, I love to wear floral shirts, shorts and skinnies. Does that mean I’m white? I’m just myself. I’m loud, I laugh a lot, and I’m fun to be around. That’s not being white. That is me being myself.
In a Perfect World
In a perfect world I would be in the same place I am now. I would still hangout with my best friend and his two cousins every weekend. I would have never had cancer. I would still be playing basketball, and next year I would be playing for Bishop Miege. I wouldn’t have half a metal leg, and I would have both of my lungs. There would not be gang violence. We could go anywhere in the city without being in danger. Nobody would be poor and nobody would be rich. Everyone would be middle class. So in my perfect world this is how I would want it to be.
Never have I ever felt worthless. It was taught to me that everyone has a purpose in life. God made me to be full of worth. The feeling of worthlessness is there in the worst of times. When those look down upon you, they are ignorant, because everyone has a talent, a purpose, and worth. The day I feel worthless is the day I will look to God and ask him to remind me of what I am worth.
I am the happy one who likes to smile.
I am the hyper, crazy one, who might break out and dance.
I am the defiant one, who would never feel beaten.
I am the one with the scars and their secrets.
I am the messed up one, who thinks of low self-esteem.
I am the helpless one, who can’t change the way my mind shouts and screams.
I am the hurt one, but much more hurt on the inside.
I am the one with the scars, and their angry message is –
I will never be gone.
I am the strong one, who is determined to fight.
I am the dreamer, who imagines a different life,
Imagines a time when happy dreams can become a reality.
I am the childlike one, who remembers to be who I want to be.
I am the one with the scars but they are not me.
And one day their meaning will be – nothing can stop me.
I am strong.
You can’t change me.
You are wrong.
I am an animal – a monster far from human. I cannot feel pain, not in my heart or from my body. I am numb. Years of hatred from humanity lays dormant inside of this cold, dark heart. But what my hate was conceived from is true envy. Humans all have normal, both significant and insignificant, lives. I am nothing, no connection; I am inhuman. What is so great about being human you ask? Humans can feel. Humans can live. Humans can love. My soul that barely exists lays dormant inside of a cold, damp hole that is I, void of any emotion and completely incapable of any real human contact. Am I insane to say I am inhuman? I think not, but others could disagree. I only say this because I am the one thing that separates humans from animals, and not meaning the normal animals such as tigers or snakes or anything as such in that category. I mean animals as in beasts. The one true quality that truly separates me from that is that I am numb. I cannot feel. I cannot feel love. I cannot feel pain. I cannot feel sympathy and I cannot feel life. I am nothing but an animal.
To be human is a distinct dream from what I am now. I am only but a scream in the dark, nothing but a simple tree falling in the middle of nowhere with no one hearing me. It’s not because I do not make a noise, but it’s because no one wishes to listen.
What am I? I cannot feel, so what am I? I cannot love so what am I? I am a long shot from humanity, so what am I? I am a monster. I am an animal. I am a beast with an empty hole in my chest where my heart should be. I am just a monster and an animal, and the worst of it all to admit, is that I am not human.
The reasons why I say I am a very strong girl – I don’t give a fuck who you is, I will get mine. I can do anything like a boy if I put my mind to it. I had a very rough childhood, and for now I’m trying to change it, so I can live my life and forget my painful childhood. These are my reasons why, but they all lead back to my last one. I had no father growin’ up, because my daddy was in jail and my mom had a boyfriend. At that time, I only had my brother to play with, and we didn’t even have a clue who our daddy was until we had to go live in our mama’s boyfriend’s mama’s house, and that when my lil sister camed into the picture. I was in 1st
grade, homeless, and just found out who my daddy was, and he was in jail still. I got teased by a lot of kids at the new school and had no friends except for this girl that had cancer, and she was bold. Toward the end of second grade we moved to the 30’s in Missouri. I made friends much more quicker there than my old school. The school was full of black kids, and my cousins was there too. During my third grade that when I got my first boyfriend, and my mama had another baby. That year our house was burned down, and we had nothing except the things we had with us at my grandma’s house, and we was homeless once again. For my 4th
grade year was the worst, and I knew it. If I couldn’t help out just a little bit, we will never make it. My brother started to run away my 5th
grade year, and I had no friend once again. I had a low self-esteem, and I thought of myself poorly. My seventh grade year we moved out here (Kansas) to get a better life out here. It was good at the beginning, but now it’s going to hell. I am trying my hardest to keep my head up and others around me. But the only thing to do now is just be strong and take charge of the things I need.
Broken Little Bird
Life can be perfect, but for me my life isn’t near perfect. Everyday is a new day for me, but everyday it’s the same old things. As I grew up as a little girl everyday I would see abuse and cruel things. No one knew – just the people that lived in my house. We were all afraid to let a word out. They might of thought I was too little to understand, but I was smart enough to know what was going on. I was just a little girl. I didn’t understand what was the meaning of life yet. I didn’t know whether what I was seeing with my own eyes was bad or good. But as I grew older I began to start putting pieces together little by little. My mom never told me anything. All she ever tried to do was protect her children. But she never knew I saw things, and I’ve never told her – still to this day. My mom was abused and everything else that you can’t imagine. But when I turned 7, thank God, everything was all over. I’m 16 now. I try not to think of the past, but it’s chasing me. It’s eating me alive. I try so darn hard to not think of it. When I do I get so angry. So angry! I just cry so much, because of all the anger built up inside of me. And now, because of all the abuse my mom has been through, she is very sick. She is really weak. And all I can blame is my dad. But I hate my dad with a passion. I’m just so angry. I’m angry at the world. I have to live with my mom being sick every single day of my life. But no one knows, not my friends, not my cousins, no one. So I call myself a broken little bird running, flying, trying to find answers just so I can find my way out to be free from all the pain. I would do anything, anything in the world, to see my mom happy again. But all I can do is pray to God and believe that everything will be okay. For now, I’m going to live my life. I’m going to make my mom’s dreams that she wants for me come true. I’m going to try my hardest, the hardest I’ll ever try in my life. Even if she doesn’t make it through to see me achieve it, I’m going to do it for her, for my mom. Because it’s my motivation. It’s my destiny.