I am not an outsider. People look at your physical appearance overlooking the invisible feelings inside. Everyone has their story, and everyone has their morals. I grew up in a small city where the white don’t make it out, and food stamps label the city currency. Police don’t bother to come around, and whoever does decide to drive around never makes it to dinner with his family. I’m going to share with you my story.
They call me Slim because I was way over six feet tall with tattoos down my body. I can’t even walk Into Wal-Mart without the security trailing behind me. They knew I was up to no good. I had a good reputation in the streets because I could hustle and steal. I got locked up once and that’s when my life changed for the worst.

I was sitting in a small room handcuffed to a metal rail. The temperature was in the mid 80’s and my black hoodie just made me hotter. Water. My mind contained racing thoughts that were like bullet trains. I should’ve ran when that bullet came but now I’m shackled down with chains. The detective came and sat right beside me; he started asking questions in a low tone. They always say, “Never snitch,” but the detective said I was looking at twenty-five years to life. All of this over a liquor store robbery that went bad. The detective only wanted my partner; he was the trigger man that took someone’s life.

The questions kept coming and then finally I broke. I told the detectives everything they wanted to know. I live in a city where snitching is the number one blunder. You never tell on anybody, even if it’s your worst enemy. I broke that code.

Talking about an outsider, I can’t even walk to the store without someone calling out my name or putting me down. I feel like I’m cast out in my neighborhood, all over me saying a few words with the detective to save my life. My family was there for me in the beginning, but threats came for me, and my family started putting me down. They called me all types of names, even kicked me out the house to save themselves. I don’t blame them; I told the detectives everything they wanted to know to save myself.

It’s been months since my break down in the investigation room. Within those months I was kicked out of my neighborhood, mother and friends left me. You don’t know how it feels to be on the outside looking in. I would’ve rather died.