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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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I was down

September 11, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I was down like left over ingredients in a cup
I am part heathen, it was hard for me to believe in me going up
It was hard for me to see, I was seasoned but the seasons had me seeking the easiest way of coming up
hoping my culture would coast and coach me, another hidden way of me coping instead of opening up
trying to be grown, my youth was a bad ode, and I wasn’t old enough
maybe faith in something would help me grow, mold me and hold me up

Instead of the spots I was holding up
hold up!
systematic symptoms
from diagnoses full of isms
spewing venom and criticism
my vision was indigent
ordaining a preeminence ending with me in prison
living thru so much tension
as a fostered kid spending stints in detention
dissention, division, split decisions- mistakes versus intention
both perforating my core-this thin line dividing my external impersonations hiding in plain sight, perpetually perpetrating
my lips pursed, disguising my reserve being purged and permeated
living in the middle of a pendulum-
life and worth, and to calm my nerves, I was overprescribed Ritalin
too hyper was just a synonym
but for a troubled child, pilled vials, became an emblem
of too many symptoms
I was a young victim, but forget your criticism…or is something wrong with me!?! Love was missing…
More soul serpent than person
I never searched for purpose
forced in church, but I lurked behind curtains
because I was too hurt to surface
I don’t speak of deserve
my reason is because I lean towards the words that speak of my worst
my good evaporated by how fast my bad gets dispersed
I irk for and worship relationships
because too long I felt alone, and as purposeless as an atheist
forgive me, I didn’t know how to pray
my repayment is painted in pain with these pages
I stray like a pagan
I cannot be patient
I’m sick like a patient
I’m rough and I’m down and I’m beat under feet, understand I am pavement!
all I feel is side effects
I see and do, a blind follower like Simon says
I gotta big head with a giant neck
so I can balance and keep the weight of my pride in check
all I feel is side effects
all I feel is side effects
but maybe sippin this last bit of residue,
of pride in the bottom of my cup will do
if I start living instead of worrying about being uncomfortable
everything doesn’t resolve or dissolve easy, no matter how hard you try to mix the ingredients, you just need to be gritty and greedy, and tilt up
the last bit of resistance in your cup

Filed Under: Trauma

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Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is a collection of Russell Wardlow’s prose and poetry written entirely behind bars. Through writings on family, spirituality, freedom, love, justice, redemption, and vulnerability, Russell seeks to show the humanity and hope of individuals like himself who are incarcerated.

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