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Everyone who has ever been given a state number has a story of a cell door closing. And too often the stories that make it out from behind those closed cell doors are of sorrow. The sorrow of so many become the substance of films and of folklore, of the narratives of men like Malcolm X or Nathan McCall or Petey Greene or Merle Haggard or a half‑a‑dozen men in Bruce Springsteen songs. So many of us with debts no honest man can pay. I think of Susan Burton or Angela Davis or the many women I’ve met as I’ve walked back into prisons, their names less well known, but their struggles no less visceral. And yet, the thing less known than all those stories is how often an open book leads to shifting someone’s life—even for simply the span of time it takes to get from that first page to the last.

Why do some people love certain books that other people really can’t stand?  That may seem a weird question -- some people like Brussel sprouts and other people hate them, some people like to watch the news or the weather channel or romcoms and other people avoid all that as much as they can, some people love jazz music and others find it boring. To each their own.But when it comes to literature and other works of art, the way that people respond can have deeper meaning.

I was so honored, grateful, and deeply moved to be invited to speak at the Inside Literary Prize event on July 10, 2025. Not so long ago, within the walls of prison, loneliness was my constant companion. Isolation had become my reality, and hope felt like a distant memory. Each day felt heavier than the last.

At Freedom Reads, Allie serves as our Development Manager—but she’ll be the first to tell you that title only scratches the surface. Her work goes far beyond fundraising. From writing grant proposals to engaging with our Library Patrons, Allie is a key part of bringing our mission to life. She’s traveled to all 15 stops of the Inside Literary Prize tour this year, helping collect stories, discuss books, and take photos.

Once, I wrote that I met my fathers again. It’s the kind of thing that feels particular to men of my age, who grew up in the wake of the crack epidemic. Some say war on drugs, and I understand this - but it was crack cocaine that left the fathers of my youth’s eyes vacant, from a high of money or the ache of not having it. Inside, I met so many of us, barely older than me or much older, lost inside prisons from all the attendant ways that accumulating weight left us lost: murder, robbery, drug dealing. And inside, when we were sober, no longer fighting over blocks, turning to whatever gave us hope, sometimes, I swear, we saw more possible in each other than Galileo saw in the night sky.

Michael Byrd had just come home after spending 17 years in prison and didn’t even have an ID. Then he was introduced to the team at Freedom Reads through a reentry program called Emerge. In January 2024, he joined the team as a Library Production Assistant assembling and building bookcases, “and going into prisons to open Freedom Libraries.” But that was just the beginning.

On May 15, the team was in New Jersey at the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women for a celebratory day talking about books. The team spread out across the women’s facility – some working with the judges for the Inside Literary Prize, the first major book prize in the United States selected solely by people in prison; some opening more than a dozen Freedom Libraries for those Inside; and, the rest of us helping me prepare to give a poetry reading from my latest poetry collection, Doggerel. We brought the women gifts: the Freedom Edition, a specially published paperback created in partnership with W.W. Norton. See, most prisons do not allow hardback books to enter for safety reasons. The Freedom Edition is a statement of support from my publisher and everyone who donates money that ensures those Inside can read Doggerel at the same time as the rest of us. And quiet as kept, my reading at Edna Mahan was so much joy.

At the end of James Wright’s poem, “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota,” as he writes about noticing the bronze butterfly, a leaf in green shadow, as he writes about the cowbells, and sunlight between two pines, the golden stones that were once horse droppings, as he writes about the chicken hawk, I’m always utterly gobsmacked by his conclusion: I have wasted my life. And it’s such a startling end to the poem that it’s haunted me for a decade. I’m forty-four years old and watched my first sunrise less than a month ago, and now I am no more than a few hours away from when I was lying in a hammock at someone’s farm, staring at a duck with her ducklings that barely rise above the growing grass, and again I am weeping, and exhausted, and willing to admit that I have not wasted my life.

Dear Reader,

Prison teaches you what it means to be alone and what it means to lean on people who care about you. Inside, we built bonds over fleeting moments, breaking bread over meals, turning books we read into opportunities to see each other more clearly. And we stayed inventing a language of hope: calling letters kites, calling studying doing the math, remembering that one day you’d only have one day and a wake up left. When my confession announced me a convict, when the judge pronounced my sentence, I walked into a cell and called myself a writer. Sometimes it’s just a word that you hold onto until it becomes freedom.

Freedom Reads Library Coordinator David Perez DeHoyos sat down with Hector, Freedom Library Patron at MCI-Norfolk, to talk about all things books. Read their conversation below.

This month, as a team, we returned to Montgomery, Alabama, to visit the Legacy Sites. And on this return, we were bringing our new expanded team. We had folks with us who’d not been permitted to go because of probation issues last year and folks who weren’t on our team then. We had family members with us. And we understood that returning to Montgomery, to the site of so many historic struggles for civil rights, was going to be about the hard work of always rejoicing, even when confronted with sorrow.

The 2025 Inside Literary Prize orientation sessions kicked off with an esteemed cohort of Inside Judges! Across 13 prisons in five states and Puerto Rico, over 300 incarcerated individuals stepped into the role of judges and are taking part in an initiative that elevates the voice and agency of those locked up. With these four books in hand, Chain-Gang All-Stars, On a Woman's Madness, This Other Eden, and Blackouts, these sessions, both virtual and in-person, were not just about preparing judges for the task ahead, selecting a book they felt the world needed to read, but about creating a space where their voices, perspectives, and experiences could be amplified and recognized. The men and women Inside are central to the conversation about literature in America.