• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer

Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

  • Home
  • About
  • Prose
    • Culture
    • Inside
    • Love
    • Mercy
    • Spirit
    • Trauma
  • Listen
  • News
  • Connect
  • Support

They Say

May 7, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

“they say”

they say love is a bank
but the things we deposit
just isn’t worth saving

what are we saving?
cuz we both withdraw
and still end up broken

they say love’s a vacation
I get it we trip
most days we just lay in

and we never work at it
we drink and reek havoc
then pass out in the midst of each others madness

they say love is
because, love IS
and the moment you say what love isn’t
then no longer does love live
—
“so low/solo”

I’m so low
I’m solo
I keep my business on the low low
but I wear my heart like a logo
in my feels, feeling like I’m going loco
I been feeling so low
I been living so low
I feel like I need soul-grow
because my soul isn’t solar, it’s so/so-
so dark,
I need the light
but I run from it
its too bright
for me to learn from it
I’ll go blind and burn in it
so all I ever do is turn from it..
now that light
is at my back
but it doesn’t light
up the track
honestly,
I don’t like where I’m at
like,
what’s the point of life,
if all I ever do is lack?
go ‘head,
you can laugh!
heard it all,
wont be the last!
doubt if God,
wants me to last
I walk forward,
but I see the past
too close!
when I read the glass
…noises in my head
but fuck you sanity!
I’ll never need you back!
I’m so low
I’m solo
—
“untitled”

what’s a promise?!
just a word.
hollow air.
like your love!
cold nights
you strayed and left me, I went right
3 a.m. we awake to no lights
eclipse, from a solstice
loving you is rolling dice
never knowing what I’ll get
haunted by your poltergeist
never needed to see you to see the wreck you’ve left
I’m in the blind
but love is,
“and so is love,” they say,
though your snowed in cold shoulders shrug
tears begin to avalanche, but I choke them up
you aren’t worth them
you aren’t worth it
you aren’t worthy
your lack of worth only made it worse
only made me worse
only made me work
more lonely, thinking if only I could escape the hurt
then I could replace the burr
of the blistering wind, whistling mistakes I’ve never faced that blurred
the truest face of her
but its time I crack open reality
tilt up my fears
and swallow my pride
to kill those butterflies you once gave me
hopefully i’ll throw them up
just to get you out of my system
I’ve been through enough

Filed Under: Love, Trauma

Reader Interactions

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Primary Sidebar

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.

Read More

  • Whose Mind is it Anyway June 30, 2022
  • Objects June 30, 2022
  • Same Thang, Different Name June 30, 2022
  • Optical Ill-lusions June 30, 2022
  • Hollow Symbols June 30, 2022

Themes

  • Culture
  • Inside
  • Love
  • Mercy
  • Spirit
  • Trauma
  • Uncategorized

Footer

Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is sponsored by giveabeat.org

  • Instagram

Navigation

  • Home
  • About
  • Prose
  • Listen
  • News
  • Connect
  • Support

Themes

  • Culture
  • Inside
  • Love
  • Mercy
  • Spirit
  • Trauma
  • Uncategorized

Prose of a Con © 2023 · web design by Studio Lyko