I didn't go to Trevon's sentencing trial, maybe it was for the best. Maybe I was bad luck. He got off easier than many. The Judge only gave him 2 years in prison, he can probably get less if he behaves well. I think he will also be on probation for another 2 years when he gets out. The Judge lessened his sentence due to no previous altercation with the law, but he still has to do some time, considering how messed up Julius is.

Julius is back in the hospital for complications and internal bleeding. I want to hate him.

I want to hope that he dies in there, but it isn't in me.

Again, I stray away from writing Poetry.

It's fascinating how one night can change everything. How a few minutes of chaos can make the weeks and months ahead chaotic. But I can't even sit around feeling sorry for myself because I'm not the one behind bars.

God only knows what he's going through.

I only wanted to spend my Summer with him, doing cheesy romantic things. That was taken away from me now and I would never be able to get that back. My Summer in itself felt ruined and pointless.

I met with Richard again to speak about music related things. He seemed to notice I was a little less enthusiastic and asked me why. I didn't dare tell him that my boy friend got locked up. Not after he made that slick comment about having a Brownsville mindset. He probably wouldn't be surprised, but that is exactly the problem.

Statistically Trevon was right where he should be at that age, but they got the entire thing all mixed up. He was good. He was a good guy and he was so good to me.

He wasn't violent or raised without his Mother or anything like that. He was good.

Maybe that's what everyone was saying about their loved ones in jail. I guess deep down they are all good in some way, all just trying to protect and look out for one another. Maybe that's why I can't hate Julius. I don't believe he was going to kill me but I am also very naive. I owe the world to Trevon, but I feel like I have given him nothing but hell on earth.

Weeks pass by and Trish tries to fix my mood, but she isn't successful. I haven't received a call from the prison at all. I guess just like my Dad, after a while he stopped trying.

I helped Pookie order and sell more hoodies and I tried hard to ignore the comments people were throwing at me.

The profits of the hoodies were really helping his mom out, Pookie sent him some left over money for him to use in the commissary. Most days I ask Pookie how he's doing but he doesn't give me any details. I know he just wants me to visit him myself. I know secretly, even Pookie hates me.