R. Kelly’s in prison. That part, at least, the system got right.

But now he wants out. Not forever, just long enough to keep from getting killed, he says.

And maybe it’s true. Perhaps someone in there wants him gone. But let’s be honest: that’s not what this is about. Not really.

It’s about control. It always has been.

For most of his life, R. Kelly didn’t just expect to get his way. He counted on it. People around him were props. His relationships weren’t really relationships. They were performances. He played the role of the genius, the protector, the lover. Behind the scenes, he pulled every string.

Even when the stories started piling up, he found ways to explain them away. Settlements. Silence. Confusion. His lawyers weren’t just lawyers. They were fog machines.

And the public, we let him do it. Some of us cheered. Others shrugged. And too many people, especially in the music industry, flat-out covered for him.

And it turns out cages are loud, chaotic places. They don’t bend to you. They don’t care what you sold or who you used to be.

For a guy like Kelly, that’s unbearable. He’s not used to being ignored.

So now he files a motion. Says someone wants to take him out. That he’s at risk, and nobody’s listening.

And yeah, maybe it’s true. Perhaps he is scared. Prison isn’t a kind place.

But being scared isn’t the same as being sorry.

This is the same R. Kelly. Same playbook. He senses weakness and pushes.

He doesn’t ask for protection. He asks to go free.

Because that’s the part he can’t shake: the belief that there’s always a door, always someone willing to unlock it.

It’s not just fear driving this. It’s habit. Entitlement.

And old instincts die hard.

Let’s sit with that for a second.

The girls, and they were girls, didn’t have lawyers filing motions when they felt unsafe. They didn’t get news articles or statements of concern. They got threatened. Or ignored. Or worse.

Some were told they were liars. Others were told to be quiet.

They didn’t have a voice for years. And when they finally found one, nobody wanted to listen.

Now, here he is, demanding the mic back.

Sure. Investigate the threat. Every inmate, no matter who they are, deserves basic safety.

But that doesn’t mean R. Kelly walks free. It doesn’t mean we forget everything that led to this.

There are ways to protect someone without undoing justice.

And justice, in his case, took a long time to show up.

It doesn’t need to vanish just because he’s uncomfortable now.

If you’ve ever known a manipulator, you’ll recognize this move.

When the lies don’t land anymore, when the charm wears off, when they realize the audience is gone, that’s when they flip it. They say they’re the ones being mistreated and that they’re the ones in danger.

It’s not repentance. It’s a reflex.

Kelly knows how to flip the script.

He just doesn’t realize nobody’s buying the ticket anymore.

He built a kingdom out of fear. Used people like instruments. Said, “Trust me,” with a smirk.

Now he says he’s scared.

That’s what justice is supposed to feel like, sometimes. It doesn’t mean cruelty. But it does mean reckoning.

He had years to feel sorry. He didn’t take them.

So let him sit.

Let him live in a world that doesn’t move just because he tells it to.

Let the silence surround him the way it surrounded so many others.

Trump delivers speeches with power and purpose. Biden couldn’t string together a sentence, and they called him “stable.”

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