pt. 1
prison is a place
I go to often in my mind
jogged in each crossed line
and jotted in every wrote rhyme
trying to find
a semblance of freedom, within time
there is no freedom in time
there is no time in freedom
freedom is timeless
when time enters my mind
I’m less mindful and more or less mindless
blinded
perceiving at a minus
cuz being confined to constructs that constrict my mind is
prison
prison is my mind
and
my thoughts feel like fists!
and my heart is a punching bag
and my spirit my emotions my body is worn down and beat the fuck up
sometimes me and my thoughts play bloody knuckles
see illusions are powerful
at one moment, seeking atonement or an at one meant to bludgeon any opponents
I’m swinging at all of my troubles…the next…I’m swinging at nothing
that’s the thing about perception huh
which reality is real
no for real, which reality is real?!
show me and I’ll punch atonement into that one too!
for real!
and yea I have tools
but when I should ply, my priors drill
and when I should drill
I screw up and drive my hammer to nails!
prison is a cell in a jail in a hell which I know, you know, we know, all too well
it’s hard to find empathy and forgiveness in prison
when a limitless spirit is placed inside of limits
and the body’s misery is witnessed
and potential is assumed finished
and fighting is nothing but fitness
a prowess you seek to finesse
so less truth can be addressed
therefore anything you repress when under duress is meshed into just another physical mess
as you drip sweat
blood peaks thru flesh as lungs gasp for breath
you realized you gained nothing
but just another prison…
I used to fight so much
I didn’t know why
til I came to prison on my first number from a fight
where my victim almost died
I was scared but I told myself he deserved it
I didn’t make him a racist nor a drunken belligerent woman beater, served him right
but that fit my narrative
because in my not so distant past, I had been the same
running from my shame
I hit into him the blame
then I kept fighting until I began fighting as if it created value to my breath
I even fight because of my size
so you’d know I’m short but far from undersized
but I didn’t know who I was nor why
so I asked myself, Russell
and I’m like what
I’m like what you doing
and I’m like I don’t know
and I’m like why you do that
and I’m like I don’t know
and I’m like why do you like to fight
and I’m like I don’t like to fight, I’m actually scared to fight but prepared to die
so why do you fight
cuz I don’t know who I am
because I wanna be liked
because I wanna be feared
because I wanna be respected
because I’m scared and have no direction
because I’ve never felt protected
because this is my only weapon
because I feel rejected dejected subjected objected injected ingested digested thrown up shitted out pissed off
personally a person of non-importance
and societally aborted
I’m a father
and it’s probable
my toddlers I’ve hobbled because of the effect of my domino
seeking more substance and conjugals over any semblance of being responsible
now stand up if any part of that resonates with you
now stand up if you’re sick and tired, of cycling between prisons
emotionally spiritually mentally physically or even unknowingly
like you don’t know how to explain or express it, but you know its something that you wanna get through over and done with
now stand up or keep standing,
if you’re sick and tired of being sick and tired of being ice sickled inside by locked doors, screaming no more locked doors!
and barbed wires until you tire or expire
steadily stifled by psychological classifiers and stereotypical identifiers
punished by the statistics of outliers
crying out from a spiritually doused-out fire
trying to get what you want most, babysitting a disguise like Ms. Doubtfire
as mugshots hang out like best friends and fliers
your image is a poster for reconstructive criticism
mirroring the same sickness of this system
a being, isolated segregated quarantined, and alienated
until properly immunized
all the while unable to fight being institutionalized
while learning more acceptance and remorse than authority…figures
this right now is an expression of self-determination, the need for freedom
this is an escaping of prison
this is us!
for us!
our thing!
so keep standing if you know what I mean, what you mean to the whole mean, with all your means and that you still mean something
something more than rap sheets and mean-mugging
that you’re more than orange one-pieces khakis grey sweats and blue jeans white shoes or boots which need rebuffing from feet scuffing
keep standing if you want nothing but peace!
a piece of healing
a piece of forgiveness and freedom
a piece of understanding
not just a piece of…pie,
but a piece of love
the real type
a piece of something greater than the nothing you run with
a piece of peace that you know
or want to know-
which to your senses are still unknown
I’m not talking about religions
something more simplistic
I’m talking about bucket lists
a peace that is spent without budgeting
budging buckling or bucking against
the things you are up against
keep standing if you wanna hold something besides grudges
and if you believe having dreams mean something
damn it! keep standing if you’re not done dreaming!
pt.2
to change, to grow expand transform transcend, we have to be audaciously truthful with ourselves about who we are, what we want, and where we are, and what’s it going to take to get us there, no matter how humbling or hurtful to one’s pride
what are you willing to lose to truly gain what you really want?
there’s more things I wanna do than the things I don’t wanna do, so ima do what I gotta do, to have what I really want!
a sense of peace!
but it’s as fleeting as the span of your attention spanned
life has turned us into onlookers
it’s turned us all into Lifer’s
prisoners of the moment
but remember, to transform, we have to be truthful
this ain’t about judgment,
it’s about the deception of perception and projection
see this beating organ’s plight
is spiked endorphins
which combat to distort
the proportion of person the emotions reward or feel remorse for
versus
your spirit immersed within
which manifests as a higher thirst
which you have the will to consort with
that can sword fight and war with
your emotional torment
which you may only ward off, using clever word tricks like WayOfLife Wardlow the wordsmith
whose nouns and verbs rip
through surface and expose turf hurt earth and purpose
by peeling back scorched curtains
seeing what lies dormant
plus a heavy guilt needing a forklift
and if I’m going even deeper, if you can see through the seams of demeanor
you’ll see me leaning
because I’m still working and it’s still hurting
but I swear the swords that are my words that ward off my wars and worst like warts is worth it!
WayOfLife Wardlow
who else but yourself! do you go to war with!
especially when feeling cornered
by a swarm of hornets
every waking hour through every new morning
you’re mourning
so we must fight on!
because I fight on from all these prisons, remembering I am still sick and tired
of my mother struggling
she’s on the run, as I speak
my sisters and brothers suffering
from the same perceptions of life I left them with
my family and any other familiars stuck as caterpillars
living and dying while I’m stuck here hoping my life will live again before I or another one of my loved ones die
before I had a chance to rectify and be a difference or
shift and transform into a bigger picture conjured before their eyes that could change their lives
because to God, I’m nothing if not butterfly
and to one of my son’s I’m the greatest alive
and to the other, he’s living to make worth of my last name because of my absence and the pain it inflicted in his life
so I gotta stay sick and tired
cuz the work ain’t over
it took prison to contemplate what had me imprisoned
and that list can’t fit in this sentence
make a noise snap or clap if you feel any of this
I know most of you had your story pre-written
and you had to absorb all of those emotional punches in bunches to the stomach, rumbling
stumbling fumbling tumbling wondering was relief ever coming
or
will you always just be accustomed to the constant cumbersome suffering
stuffing and crushing you into corners like punishments?!
but this pain was and is just but a prelude to greatness
a greatness forged by fire
behold your chapters, you’re more than being marginalized in the margins of pages and vacant spaces
what I’m saying is
that you’re more than what this system of beliefs made you to believe you had to be in this system for relief
just to achieve while at the cost of another’s grief
there’s enough room for you and me
because truly within an eye that sees, is We
listen,
you are more than the actions captured
that’s a moment
there’s many where that came from, lump sums
the job is not done
we are creators and curators
we are innovators and motivators
we are mental skyscrapers and monumental renovators
we are bosses and administrators
we are motha fuckn ogres with layers despite the naysayers and pepper sprayers
we are foundations and acres
we are amazing graces
amazing greatness
and America’s greatest!
that’s the truth
you are alive
just cocooned
pain cocooned you as a full-bellied caterpillar and birthed the mothaf… butterfly!
your resilience against resistance doubt and fear,
that audacity to change and cultivate a personal resolve and revolutions of strength and evolution,
forming a peace, not to be disturbed, which transcends all prisons and imprisoning thoughts and actions is nothing short of amazing, transformative, and butterfly!
if you still feel and believe in this energy synergy chemistry symmetry and remedy for an expanded identity building within this building
if you know deep down you are more than a villain, but brilliant
and you are alive, well, and real-
real enough to recognize being sick and tired of veiling and concealing and shielding and kneeling and over appealing all the while desiring to peel your disguises revealing a rekindling feeling of what’s innermost
because a heart, doesn’t beat on a ghost
and I heard Eminem say every parasite needs a host
but sorry not sorry venom, those doors are now closed
our heart is our lethal protector
and what’s open now is our minds
where the parasitic prison once found a place and time to take up space and time
but a free heart
is the key to your door to open from a room of darkness, and let in your light
realization is growth
because a prison is literal but also metaphorical,
so it isn’t just for the birds, but for the ghosts…
Leave a Reply