Half in / Half Out: Poems by Number 69758

By Julio Fernando Velez

I grew up in a tuff­ neighborhood. My elementary school in the Bronx was nicknamed “The School of Broken Dreams.” At the tender age of nine, I made a zip gun so I could shoot a rival nine-year-old gang member.

My dad knew our neighborhood was bad news, and he tried to get us out, but life kept pulling us back. Even when we lived for a time in North Carolina, the New York thug life was still in my veins. My high school English teacher—a gentle Southern lady—caught me writing on scrap paper and read aloud to the class the thoughts that were burning me up inside: “Your homies are pushing time, dope, or daisies.” What did it mean, she wanted to know. How could I possibly explain?

It meant my whole life had been poisoned by the hell I called home. It meant my normal was someone else’s nightmare. It meant that even though I moved back to the same block in the Bronx time and again, by the time I reached adulthood, I’d never again see any of the kids from “The School of Broken Dreams.” They disappeared, one at a time, pushing time in prison, pushing dope on the streets, or pushing daisies long before they should’ve been.

That English teacher told me to write my story. Write down the words that poured out of my pain. Maybe someday, she said, some young man will read those words and have a better life. Two years later, standing in the yard of the world’s largest prison, I remembered her words. And I began writing. I never stopped.

Now, decades later, the book she inspired me to write is in print. These poems are my introduction to myself. They are the words I’ve spent 40 years pouring onto bluebooks in school and scraps of paper in prison, on notepads and napkins or whatever I had handy. They’re the words I used to express a life I could never hope to explain otherwise. I have stood in the yard of the world’s largest prison. I have been captive to drugs, depression, demons, gangs, the state, and even the Devil himself.

But I am a captive no longer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781462412525

Julio Fernando Velez

Raised in a Puerto Rican family in the Bronx of the 1950s, Julio Velez is a former inmate of Rikers Island Penitentiary and Elmira Maximum Security Prison. After a decades-long battle against personal demons, addiction, and a lengthy rap sheet, Velez discovered a gift for photography and media production, which he uses to offer uplift to others. Half In/Half Out is Velez’s first published work. In his unique voice, Julio Velez uses poetry to tell the story of the loss of his childhood to gangs, drugs, and the criminal justice system. Written over the course of five decades, and touching on themes of death, grief, loss, addiction, love, spirituality, and redemption, Velez’s work offers a glimpse into what it’s like to live as both a captive and a free man, simultaneously half in and half out.

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HALF IN /HALF OUT

Poems by Number 69758

JULIO FERNANDO VELEZ

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Copyright © 2019 Julio Fernando Velez.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Inspiring Voices

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.inspiringvoices.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1251-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1252-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019900550

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 02/19/2019

CONTENTS

Dedication:

1949–1970

39857

020170

51064

88759

260790

06664

15117

15217

15417

12417

122369

1970–1975

020171

887970

20170

103172  — Doing Time In Rikers

11617

11717

120470 — Into Gen Pop

11817

12217

13317

13417

13517

13617

13717

13817

13917

14317

14817

15517

030272 — Solitary Confinement

112174

31472

82275

010170

31970

32174

1975–1985

14117

14217

12817

102673

12517

12617

12717

11517

14417

102673

12017

12917

13017

13117

13217

16517

061277

51283

020197

020397

102673

102673

51790

14517

14717

14917

15017

15717

15817

15917

1985–2010

16117

62893

050599

110299

14117

51790

081309

082389

15617

14017

14617

72686

62386

62887

112310

081509

16717

112215

62308

012909

062886

051790

97517

11317

052387

122003

20297

70783

120208

2010–2015

51216

071507

051906

41912

15317

32572

080209

303752

41924

32316

92816

12361

072414

41202

21409

102815

51317

53012

77717

122114

67388

030318

012318

122309

122912

122349

81909

52716

61712

16102

06118 — Outside In

APPENDIX: Julio Fernando Velez, a Timeline

Background information about the author’s next project: An autobiographical film titled The Me I Never Knew

DEDICATION:

In 1967 we lived in Asheboro, North Carolina. I was about 17 years old, and we were the only Latino family in town. We would go to NYC for major holidays to be with family. Upon returning to school after a holiday, I was supposed to take an English exam in the class of Mrs. Kittie J. Caveness. I was caught writing something on a scrap piece of paper. Mrs. Caveness asked me what little girl I was bothered over. My reply was none. She said, Then you are cheating on your test. Give me those notes. I did as she asked, and she started to read out loud: Your homies are pushing…. She stopped and said, Honey, I am not from a big metropolitan city. Please read this out loud. So I did:

                                                  Your homies

                                                  are pushing

Time,

Dope,

                                                  and Daisies.

She then asked what it meant. I told her that when we go back home to NYC, one or more of my friends are always pushing time (in jail), dope (strung out), or daisies (dead).

She then said that I should write a book about that hell I called home; and maybe, just maybe, some NYC kid will read it in time to walk away from there and come out alive. I didn’t have time to write a book then, but two years later as I was kicking cold turkey while standing in the yard of the world’s largest prison, I began my story.

My English teacher in North Carolina did what no other teacher had ever done. She reached for me and inspired me to write. I would like to dedicate this book to her.

Dedicated to Kittie Caveness

THANKS:

The author wishes to express his deep gratitude to his children and to their mother.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The content of this book is presented in a somewhat raw form. Spelling and grammar were corrected only when it was necessary for the sake of clarity. Otherwise, the original spelling, capitalization, and punctuation styles were all preserved from the hand-written poems. It is the editor’s hope that this will contribute to the authentic, honest tone with which the poet presents his emotions and experiences.

1949–1970

39857

Just like a kid

Using their eyes

And trusting.

As Little Man pulls his dirty sleeve over his redden, tear soaked, unblinking eyes he asked

You are going to help me right Tony, right, right Tony

Tony throws his arm around this little man and pulls him in close and answered

Sure I am Little Man, where is this mother fucker

As Little Man tries his best to stop crying to compose himself to talk,

Tony and this kid, his fellow 3rd grader head into the Bowels of hell

to find that 5th grader that keeps bullying Little Man’s younger brother.

They cross at the intersection of Kelly Street and Intervale Ave

and as if in slow motion they enter the schoolyard at PS 99.

No body messes with us Bro. Nobody messes with The White Warriors.

Thanks Tony, I knew I could count on you.

020170

I’V NEVER PLAYED WITH MY FATHER

                        NEVER JOINED THE SCOUTS NOR THE LITTLE LEAGE

                        NEVER REALLY HAD ANY FRIENDS AT ALL

                                        AT THE TENDER AGE OF NINE

                        HAD MY BACK TO THE WALL

                        NEW YORK CITY BORN AND BRED