James Broadnax has spent more than 16 years on death row in a 6-by-10-foot cell in Texas, where he has developed routines to manage prolonged isolation, including writing poetry to pass time, according to accounts of his daily life and legal filings connected to his case.

Broadnax, 37, often writes spoken word poetry at a small desk inside his cell, describing the process as immersive and mentally absorbing. In a recent piece featured in the documentary Solitary Minds, he writes about losing himself in what he calls a “time gap,” reflecting on confinement and uncertainty.

His work includes lines describing prolonged incarceration and the emotional strain of awaiting an unresolved fate.His engagement with writing dates back to his teenage years, when he wrote rap lyrics in notebooks with aspirations of becoming a professional musician.

That earlier creative output later became a focal point during his criminal trial, where prosecutors introduced his lyrics as part of the case against him.Broadnax is scheduled to be executed on April 30 in Huntsville, Texas, where he is expected to receive a lethal injection of pentobarbital.

His conviction stems from a 2009 case in which he and his cousin were found guilty of the murders of two men, Matthew Butler and Stephen Swan, during a robbery in Garland, Texas.During the trial, prosecutors presented Broadnax’s rap lyrics as evidence, arguing they reflected violent tendencies and supported claims that he posed a continuing threat.

According to legal representatives and advocacy groups, the use of those writings played a role in the jury’s assessment during sentencing.Defense attorney Liles has argued that the inclusion of the lyrics contributed to an outcome that relied on character interpretation rather than direct evidence tied to the crimes.

In statements supporting ongoing legal appeals, Liles said the case raised concerns about whether artistic expression was improperly used to influence a capital sentencing decision.

Legal challenges now before the U.S. Supreme Court focus on whether the use of Broadnax’s lyrics violated constitutional protections, including due process and equal protection under the Eighth and Fourteenth Amendments.

His legal team has filed a petition requesting intervention to halt the execution, asserting that the evidentiary use of creative writing unfairly prejudiced the outcome.

In support of the appeal, a group of 16 artists and public figures submitted an amicus brief, including musicians and actors who argued that artistic expression in other genres has historically not been treated as literal evidence of criminal intent.

The filing draws comparisons to well-known songs in country, reggae and pop music that include fictional or exaggerated narratives involving violence or wrongdoing, which have not led to similar legal scrutiny.

The brief references examples such as Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” and Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff,” noting that such works have been widely interpreted as storytelling rather than confessions of real-world acts.

The document argues that rap music, in contrast, has been disproportionately subjected to literal interpretation in legal contexts.Erik Nielson, a professor at the University of Richmond who has studied the use of rap lyrics in criminal proceedings for nearly 15 years, said such cases reflect a broader pattern.

Nielson, co-author of the book Rap on Trial, maintains a database documenting instances where prosecutors have introduced rap lyrics as evidence, often to establish motive or character.

According to Nielson, the practice is largely confined to rap music and has not been applied consistently across other artistic forms. He said this disparity raises questions about cultural interpretation and potential bias in how different genres are treated within the judicial system.

Broadnax’s case has also drawn attention to jury selection practices during his trial. According to legal filings, prosecutors initially excluded Black jurors from the panel before the presiding judge intervened. The issue has been cited by defense attorneys as part of broader concerns about fairness in the proceedings.

The case comes amid ongoing debates within legal and academic circles about the admissibility of artistic expression as evidence. Critics argue that such material can be misinterpreted or taken out of context, particularly when presented to juries unfamiliar with the conventions of specific genres.

Supporters of its use contend that it can offer insight into a defendant’s mindset when considered alongside other evidence.

Broadnax’s lawyers argue that, in this instance, the lyrics were treated as literal representations of intent rather than creative expression, potentially influencing the jury’s determination that he posed a future danger, a key factor in capital sentencing decisions in Texas.

As the scheduled execution date approaches, the Supreme Court petition represents the final legal avenue for a stay. The outcome could have broader implications for how courts evaluate creative works in criminal trials, particularly in cases involving severe penalties.

Broadnax remains on death row awaiting the court’s response, continuing to write poetry as part of his daily routine while his legal team pursues last-minute efforts to halt the execution.

At the edge of Cancún in the Mexican state of Quintana Roo, a high-security penitentiary known as Cereso stands behind barbed wire, watchtowers and military surveillance.

The complex houses both male inmates and a separate women’s section known as Modulo 2, where 284 women are currently held.Daily life inside follows a rigid routine. Time is structured around chores, workshops and administrative schedules, with little variation.

Movement is controlled, and activities are closely supervised, reflecting a system designed to impose order and predictability.Until recently, however, the prison operated under markedly different conditions. Just two years ago, Cereso was widely regarded as one of the most dangerous facilities in Mexico.

According to accounts from within the system, male inmates exerted significant control, while a shortage of guards undermined basic security and oversight.In response, the government of Quintana Roo intervened with the backing of the army, installing new leadership and reasserting institutional control.

The facility has since undergone extensive renovation, with upgraded infrastructure and a shift in administrative approach.

Under the new administration, the prison has introduced a framework centred on rehabilitation. Mental health support has become a key component of this approach, particularly within the women’s wing. Six psychologists are assigned to Modulo 2, providing regular counselling and psychosocial workshops aimed at preparing inmates for eventual reintegration into society.

Officials have structured programmes to address behavioural, emotional and social challenges faced by inmates, many of whom come from backgrounds marked by poverty, marginalisation and unstable living conditions.

These factors, while not excusing criminal conduct, are frequently cited by prison authorities as shaping the trajectories that led many women into the justice system.Within the facility, six women have given birth during their incarceration.

Their children are allowed to remain with them until the age of three, after which custody is transferred to relatives. A designated area for mothers and young children has been adapted to include play spaces and child-friendly features, though it remains firmly within the confines of a controlled prison environment.

The population of Modulo 2 reflects the broader dynamics of Mexico’s criminal justice system. Many inmates have been convicted of serious offences, including human trafficking, sexual exploitation, drug-related crimes and, in some cases, murder.

At the same time, a significant number remain in pre-trial detention, sometimes for extended periods lasting several years. The judicial system in Mexico has faced criticism for delays, particularly following the adoption of stricter criminal policies that have increased reliance on detention before trial.

While legal frameworks do not formally differentiate between men and women in sentencing, inmates and observers point to gender-specific challenges. Social and family circumstances are often cited in proceedings, and women may face forms of discrimination linked to their roles within households and communities.

Those awaiting trial frequently maintain their innocence, underscoring the uncertainty that accompanies prolonged detention.

Despite the restrictive environment, moments of personal expression continue to emerge within Modulo 2. A photography project named after the women’s wing documents how inmates assert a sense of identity through small, regulated acts such as applying makeup, styling hair or grooming nails.

Access to beauty products is limited and tightly controlled, available only during designated periods under supervision. Yet these brief intervals alter the atmosphere within the facility. Participants adopt more confident postures, engage more openly and, in some cases, reveal aspects of themselves that remain otherwise concealed.

For some inmates, these acts carry particular significance. Blanca, who is serving a 54-year sentence, the longest in the facility, learned to read and write during her time in prison. She has filled notebooks with handwritten reflections and drawings, including a song she composed titled “mi último lugar,” or “my last place,” which she describes as a meditation on a life trajectory reshaped by incarceration.

Observers involved in the project say such expressions do not diminish the seriousness of the crimes committed or the structural inequalities embedded in the penal system. Instead, they highlight the complexity of life inside prison, where discipline and control coexist with resilience, creativity and interpersonal connection.

While prisons in Mexico are often associated with overcrowding and violence, conditions vary across regions. Cereso, following its restructuring, presents a more controlled environment, though challenges remain.

Sentences are lengthy, oversight is constant and opportunities are limited.Within these constraints, inmates continue to form bonds, share experiences and, at times, reclaim elements of their identity.

The resulting portrait is neither one of redemption nor condemnation, but of a system in transition and the individuals navigating its boundaries.