I was at the kiosk the other morning and noticed a slowly dying roach scampering about in near circles trying to get either its bearing or away. I returned to that same kiosk 5 hours later and found that same roach on its back, yet still kicking. Its two back legs flayed in the air in search of solid ground, but there were none to be found.
The critter was broken, smashed, with pieces of dried entrails hanging out of its body, but still it refused to surrender to death. I’m sure several other inmates saw it and probably smiled at its soon approaching demise, but there was a small part of me that was cheering for the little guy. Even in the face of unsurmountable odds, it kept kicking.
A part of me resonated with the roach, I am a castaway, replused by most, disdained by many, and counted as a lost cause, but there’s a part of me that refuses to die. I know that the racist red tape of the criminal justice system have me bound up with no move to manuever, but still a limb bucks. I know that family, friends, and associates have counted me a lost cause, yet still I can’t surrrender.
Like that roach, I’ve been crushed under the weight of rich, powerful, connected, and corrupted public officials, but still. My options have been poured out like the entrails of that roach, but hope keeps me gathering them up in case of a miracle.
I never got to see the end of that roach’s story, but for those who’re betting against me, my faith says, “No retreat, no surrender!” Even though I’m forgotten cast aside, counted worthless, I will continue to trust that help will come if I only keep kicking.