Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Culture

Lock the Gate

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Lock the gate

I lock my door

my door opens

but I’m still closed in

cuz I don’t have the keys that matter, what does it matter

story of my life and your heart

maybe u will, maybe u won’t open your heart

that doubt that clouds ur mind is still closed-in

your hang ups hanging up like a clothes pin

how can distance not hurt more than our closeness

fear is not the same thing as an omen

thoughts become reality when you act them out

painting reality as coincidences you try to ration out

I told u so’s-becoming rationales

but you did this to us, to u, to me, regardless however it fractions out

we’re fractured now

forget you mirror, the truth is clearer, when I’m backing out

starring at the broken fragments, of fragile glass, reflecting off my glasses-we’re matching now

but what happens now

you’re brokeness never freed me, I’m still trapped

tried to fix the pieces but how long will that last

I open my door to only stare at more locks

as time pasts, im not aware of the clocks

tick tock

a locked door behind a locked gate

a trapped soul inside a broken mirror

a wounded man still doomed to pride

a runaway love with no room to hide

a lost mind tryna find peace a lost time that reminds me

I’m not fine but don’t mind me

cuz its about time that I find me

maybe time, is the right key.

Prison Reflects Society

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YOU KNOW I RIDE WITH MY BLACK PEOPLE!

Until them ironic times I gotta ride on my black people.

I PICK THE SIDE OF MY BLACK PEOPLE!

until them ironic times I’m picking sides with my black people –

While on a different side with ‘my’ black people/

That’s on a different side from ‘those’ black people.

Too many condition and contradictions with confections of self hate that expose black people.

Prison a race camp, and nobody understands that MORE THAN BLACK PEOPLE.

What changed?

What’s free?

When I stare segregation in the face,

accepting discrimination every day,

with no denials to it being about race,

there’s no such thing as color blind, picking a color is the only way.

Truth sees between the lines

peer thru your batted lashes.

You’ll see the world in pieces.

Color Coded Conditions.

Dancing In My Head

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May lie in my bed

scrolling thru lies in my head.

Should I deny or confess?

Or try and finesse?

When I reply

because eyeing your texts

is like pie in the sky I try to ingest.

I digress.

My life is a…

I shouldn’t try –

Adding my time to your chest

putting your heart beat under duress.

I rather be wise keeping my ‘why’s’ to my chest.

Suppressed.

Darkening this truth from the light it reflects.

I think I know why we connect.

You’re so much more, yet you know act its like being less.

Suddent truths may produce a rise in our stress.

Surprised how you rise despite

when most would fall to their demise,

from life’s bitter tests.

Purpose is perfect timing at best,

but forget time, to most, it’s just confining I bet.

Therefore, meeting you, I’ll just describe it as blessed.

Here’s to, poetic descriptions.

If, Rose Is your blush, then Violet your dress.

Now may I have this dance as I figure out how to confess.

Heartly Home

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Home is where the heart is.

His is now gentrified.

he now enters his mind

all the time.
All this time

he’s been inside

he’s been Ben inside

Been frank-

with everyone he knows

Been 100.

How he’s been described

he’s been disguised.

Therefore, falsely identified

misinterpretations tint his eyes.

Fires dream to fly.

Fire in his eyes.

Hell bent to rise.

He’s meant to fly.

Despite the size of critics

he defies being defined and criticized.

He doesn’t play the victim.
Athough, his position tends to victimize

Believing he’s too special to be generalized.

Home is where he’ll sympathize.

Heart is what he’ll symbolize.

More or Less, My Record

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Hello?..

I don’t need a lecture

just for the record

I’m more than my record

just give me a second

I haven’t ate breakfast

you know how it is when you waking up out of sleep

straight from the Odyssey

that we call dreams

but that shit reality

its 2 already?

I need a few calories

u say I’m waking up late feeling bad for myself

so I need a wake up call from someone else

u say that u feel me and here for my help

who says I need help

put those projections on somebody else

I can do bad, all by myself

matter of fact I’m already, all by myself

I’m pushing of coarse, cuz I need some space

I don’t need your perceptions all in my face

I called you ok

but you all on my case

damn right I hold grudges

cuz this feel like judgment

u say u ain’t judging

but what is it when its one thing or the other I get it…

I know u say u see more in me ?

I’m snoring, u boring me

life packed some c4 in me

I may blow up at any second,

while this phone recording me

I don’t care if they hearing me,

I don’t care bout their orders cuz I am no orderly

I am still borderline, as long as those fences still border me

so just for the record I’m more than my record

I’m raw I’m a rebel and wretched

my life is a wreckage

I don’t get no rest or no respite

its hectic

I betcha it doesn’t get better

revel yet wrestle with messes

I won’t leave a message

hold up wait a second…

this sounds a lot like my record

you was right save the lecture.

Nonexistent.

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Life-

Came onto me

and said

do you want to live?

I said

No

Death-

Ran into me

and asked

do you want to die?

I said,

no.

I’m stuck in this in between.

Indecisive I guess.

I live in denial

and die to rejection.

I’m inside of confusion

alluding to this illusion

created disillusions

What I see, isn’t real

What I feel, I can’t see

What I say, I don’t mean

What I mean, is a lie.

A lie more realer than I

balancing the thinnest of lines

of how to live when we die

I hate picking sides.

It’s just a matter of eyes

having yet to open mine

to the day and it’s night

to the dark and it’s light

still stuck inside of a mine

my mind

don’t mind me?

Pay me no mind

I don’t exist.