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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Out and In

April 4, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

If I’m looking outward than I won’t see inward
I can not look inward
the skin of a sinner
never say never, I’m more than the N word
I’m more than my torment
more than these torrential forces I forklift
I cant forfeit
I forget, my fort is, my forehead-my pride and feeling important
those feelings imported
are filled with assorted
concealments I’m on the floor with
praying, do u hear me calling?
outward I’m too tough, I fall on my gender
internally at war and I’m injured
my core is dismembered
I cant silence that inner-
me!
boxed in, I enter Pandora-
weak!
I endure this binge and bender
of mixtures
and vendors
of liquor
that enter
my memor-
ry
til I hemhor-rage,
I’m a cinder
brick,
at the bottom of river!
goodbye afflictions- au revoir!
I have no reserve in this reservoir
I do not feel regular
still, pain doesn’t register
and there’s not enough change in the register
so my change doesn’t register
I’m vane but a heckler
my shame is the messenger
my name is a question mark
my aim is left in the dark
I stray, I’m afraid of loss
everyday, comes with a cost
I walk the thin line of praying to the cross
and praying that I’m not crossed
I’m numb, help me feel!
I’ve always felt less safe, and less sacred
and more hatred and more hated
now I reside where they hate us
and cut off relations
because of our mistakes
but we’ve all been mis-taken
even temptation has stipulations
Lord!
I’m drowning give me breath
my talent gives me many, but the talons of true freedom sinks down within me
flesh!
I cant change how they see me, am I not more than my surface
or do I not want more than the service of that surface
time is circular, what’s goes around-I deserve this
but I still got reserve, I’ve preserved it
..reaped fruits-
spreading my fingers
contracting my knuckles
preparing to crawl
digging thru the dirt
earth stuck in my nails
perspiring
I’ma mess
but I pulled thru!
but this life is hard and at times I still look past you
they don’t know my journey
I didn’t need a gurney
every step I earned it
pro se in my struggles, I didn’t have attorneys
kept faith in the lowest moments, I didn’t have a clergy
at times I felt more blessed than being allergic
I stayed thirsty
separated myself from being in the herd and in a hurry
even while in this fight everyday waking up, looking unphased and still struggling to feel worthy!
because of your glory
I beat the statistics and became every month outside of February-I made it to 30
I couldn’t see past myself in the mirror, but now I recognize you
so when I look out, I’m no longer afraid to look within and see with your eyes too
I’m no longer the type that would hide my truth
I didn’t believe the hype of living right but the scriptures they recite has more wisdom in each bite then inside my tooth
Corinthians said I can’t be disguised by youth
because I just became a man, and if they ask how… I’ll just point to the sky as my truth

Filed Under: Inside, Mercy, Spirit, 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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