Ah, my buddy. Man, I ain’t forget about your ass man. This jail sent my letter back on some humbug shit. But I’ll give you evidence–I know how ya’ll like to do. (envelope “insufficient address” had correct p.o. box)

Anyway, in this past week i’ve seen the c.o.s beat two people up. An old man around his late 50s, and a young kid who I grew up with (17 years old). I’ve tried to get them to try me–they won’t fall for it. You see I’m very outspoken they gave me a new nickname: loudmouth, how you like that?

I’ve cussed them out, threatened them, they still won’t attempt to put their hands on me. They’re cowards. You see — I’m a little buff to be 17, well might as well say 18, my birthday is –. …

I want some feedback on what you think about this other letter I’m sending to you, don’t half-ass one page me neither. Oh yeah, so unthoughtful of me, thank you for my 5 min of fame, but please —, say my real name. I want them to know it’s me, fuck da police (I’ve seen y’all sign–lol) Oh yeah, nice touch with the feedback, man. But it needs less complaining and more rebel energy to show them we won’t fold until victory is bestowed. Aye I go to trial in —. It would be cool if you stop by, huh? Well, hit me back. –The poet, Daquan Coleman