Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Inside

Figure of Speech (Free-verse)

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I am the definition
of an acrobatic radical
versatile as my vertebrae
vertical verses reverse the subversive and emerge on the surface
like sermons
to the needy persons
like verbiage, the wordage is worms to the birds that keep swarming earliest
my mentality merciless like the enforcement and legislation of laws
and the time I’ve spent observing cold-blooded murders from systemically created murderers
nature nurtured hurt
and murmurs of the worriers
and warriors and tormenters I’ve placed inside of my melancholic melodious journalism
scripting their penchant for privatizing and profiteering the purges of pain
punished inside of the urbanization of prisons while pundits and partisans politic “if I’m fit for forgiveness, and my guiltiness”
just to guillotine my worthiness

so when my body is liberated from this captivity
actually, they’ll attack me more actively
provoking me vocally, passively
with preconceived notions and statistical quotas
by the weight of my record amidst the gravity of keeping me grounded and over-blaming me for the grounding,
I swear that this shit is maddening
but I’m a daddy and
I’ma keep rising the saddle daily battling defying the averages
prose of a con is an ionic bond,
to the iconic WayOfLife
just give me a mic and I’ll fight the fight I was born to take on
like the son of creed, all I need is a ring, and a bell I can ding
I stopped kicking the stones that was thrown at me,
when I was down vulnerably on my knees,
and I picked them up like David with his sling
so just give me the platform to set every stone free
ready or not, hear comes the figure of speech

Prison, is a Place for Ghosts?!

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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…

Oh, the Irony

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recreating myself
into another superficiality
to define my being
in your superficial reality

who am I here to impress
yet, now I speak
from a temporal abode
seeking room for release

when platitudes
put to test
your capacity of belief
and forgiveness

and why
why should I worry
myself to death
with skeletons to readdress

while closets
are buried deep
in restless homes
off busy streets

and like high school reunions
society awaits my return
along with familiar caterpillars
to judge what the butterfly has learned

Subjects of Subjugating Subjectives and Sublimation

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how selfish would it be
if I were to admit
a blasphemous thing

those two which-
I consider as Kings
also wield forceful power
over me

from my own spawn
manifested two prisons
which render certain limits
of impermanent dependence

two goals I have endlessly sought
liberating a breath I’ve fought
only to later understand
freedom could not be in their hands

and as my evolution demands
the ego must let go of its plans
but to the watchful accusers
what I would bring myself to confess

at this loneliest hour
I’ve understood a new unrest
my two pillars
may put halt to my powers

as sure as the clocks count hours
and unwavering Truth in Knowledge
I know of a balance
senses refuse to acknowledge-

as so is my challenge
hath I not stored enough mileage?
unbeknownst to conventions
the crux of my decisions

and the only admission
is of two doors
and no more
although one offers extension

ode to the man of opinion
or of spiritual dominion
identity can not
be wrapped in, where one is not

for one’s journey
is always alone
alone to one’s own soulful drama
and no other’s, for no other can roam

…

a moment of revelation…

years later, at levels too deep to rest
I’ve now understood what she said
in this lifetime, she’s chosen a journey
controlling what she begets

I See People

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I’ve seen people,
come to prison with violent crimes and leave with addictions
I’ve seen people,
come to prison from drug addictions and leave with addictions to prescription
I’ve seen people, come to prison and die before the end of their sentence
I’ve seen people
who have been condemned to die in prison!

“they win, when they make you feel that you are alone”
that’s a line from Star Wars
I’d wonder if my family ever seen it
because then maybe they’d get it
but no point in wondering,
because I know they didn’t

I’ve seen correctional officers correct correctional officers
then subject correctional convicts to objectional vengeance
and then head the news with new charges from their real-life decisions
because their morality at their job was just payment for pretending
now they are in protected cordoned-off areas beginning…
in a place they thought would be my ending
and their fate…pending

I’ve seen predators come to prison and be model citizens
until they get beyond the fences and remodel their modeled innocence
replaying traumatic images
inflicted within this “beneficient” system that became their menacing nemesis
running from the implications of the emotionally charged title convicting them
hiding within work effort and religious involvement in front of prisoners as if they are convincing them

but freedom for them is just as hard as the man for decades still claiming his innocence
a being still being crippled by the remnants of dreaded reminiscing-

of lions roarings and snakes hissing
and spiders crawling, and birds flaunting
as thoughts wander, and sleep jaunting
and nightmares normal, and dreams haunting
and bodies haunched, as chairs launching!
and doors slamming, and keys taunting!
and mail re-routed and dial tones calling!
as knives joust, with anger mounting!
with day rooms crowding, and nerves crawling!
and fights brawling, then thin skin jaundiced!
and fear crouching, and blood sprawling!
and walls burning, and roofs falling!
and lost darlings, but pride dauntless!
while coffin cautious…
as coughs and yawns are crossed with
being the sick and tired crossfit raucous masses mashed into compartments
with bared closets and squandered losses
as the night fawns over the sun’s dawning
and through it all
since I’ve been through it all
now involvement being a fly on the wall
I’m scrawling through all this!
absorbing all this!
toxic
nauseous
gastric
bypasses
matched with
fractured
factions
fractioned
til fragile,
then ashes!
we all
fall
down…

Global Tel-Missing-Link

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building connections on a payphone when the time is limited tentative and expensive
pretending with
friends for benefits and friends with benefits who are really family that’s acting out their disconnections differences and distances

conveniently forgetting you on thanksgiving and Christmases

then every new year, your birthday gets tossed in the shuffle as if they just remembered the imprisoned position you’ve been sitting in since sentencing
still aging through dissonance and dissidence

but you technically grew there
cut your roots there
worn out your boots there
found your truth there
got fractured relationships broken hearts and gaping wounds there,
scars and chipped your tooth there
seen murders, suicides, and burning roofs there

segue, I really miss a cold root beer
in a restaurant choosing the view in the room perusing sitting in a booth chair
present yet able to be so aloof inside of social reality spoofs, proof of the intoxicating spruce of new air

but back to killing connections on global tel link when the other side is guessing intentions
while trying not to seem so dismissive, pretending to be the most attentive and not insensitive
but they aren’t that convincing

though you can almost hear it,
their shoulder twitching, composure fidgets and you’re sorta flinching, wincing
feeling the aura shifting but you ignore it quickly
‘cuz you really need this phone to lift you

it’s just that, you’re so close to falling,
yet you keep talking, facing towards the wall like a small closet that fits you
so you can hold onto any old feelings missed through recorded extensions because when you hang up,
your hang-ups end you back up and back in between fences

where everyone is defensive,
taking everything offensive pretending through everyone else’s pretenses
envision this…

you’re suspended within the air’s thickness
electric with tension
reeling through traumatic instances and reflected images projected throughout the lifespan of systemic judged sentences
then the temperature tends to drift with impending incidents
maybe based on past incidences or just incidental
with incantations of certain slurs mentioned
because everyone is temperamental
so you can’t get caught up being too sentimental
‘cuz calm confident composure is existential
when avoidance or escape is too hard because every threat isn’t only circumstantial,
but residential
you know too well that it’s by design, it ain’t coincidental

misery don’t love company, it just needs an excuse
I should know, cuz usually the miserable are more of a recluse
but it still doesn’t stop them like most people from tending to snoop
just to get a scoop, so they can stop sitting in their own poop
by turning the light on someone else’s indiscriminate truth

segue
that’s called deflection
it’s a psychological survival method
built to project cognitive distortions and emotional objectives you’ve invested
for you’re own protection

now back to wondering of the disconnected connections of prison phones
when new contacts
try not to contract
the dysfunctions you combat
as if you’ve been stricken with covid
as if contract tracing from people who’ve gotten close to you in your past leads them to an obit
wondering how much truth you tell and how many lies you omit
I’m like, damn, am I not suffering enough? you know this
I can tell your thoughts keep you veering focus
who befriends or lends hands to prisoners just to assume them poachers?
this ain’t the land of empty platitudes, all of our closets been pried opened
unless you plan to bear yours, forget mine, embrace context and just live on and stop bringing up old shit

I tell them they’re welcome to go, there’s nothing you owe me
oh, and let me admit,
right now I’m isolated
in quarantine
inside of segregation
because all misery is passed down or passed forth and throughout all my precautions, still I’ve contracted covid…

yea, I know how that sounds,
as if prison isn’t already lonely
but isn’t that what prison is?
isolation
quarantine
segregation?

no wonder I’m in need of affirmations
while weaving through the intentions of people who preside over my incarceration

those that come in treating me like a patient,
choosing the most miserable place as a show of goodwill that’s godly motivated
or just as an income-based occupation

judging my emotional deflation,
eye contact deviations,
blank gazes,
and vocal intonations
while I’m living through demasculinization
and identity castration
practicing spiritual cultivation

as their wrong presumptions of my intellect, rebellious subversion and mental well being seem like innocent or projected character assassinations
to protect their position description and pontifications

guarding unknown or known feelings of unconscious or conscious biases and superior feelings rivaling their lack of experience-
couple with knowledge that has only been educationally graduated
mixed with a savior’s complex predisposed from environments that created authoritative infatuations

so who’s here to help who?
I seem more doctor in a place that houses patients

segue
and I’m a patient,
an inpatient, inpatient made to stay patient

but whose hear to help who?
I seem more doctor in a place that houses patients
for those I call out to, or call out to me-
whom only found me because of my historical lapses of behavior
inside of a system and society that had never done me any favors
it’s crazy how the distance on phones only serve to keep you physically disinfected

but that detachment only makes me wonder

how many of your own infections do you continue ingesting only to blame it outwardly on the person who’s less able to fight the damning disassociations of our systemically created social disconnection?
just because my mistakes have been viewed as weapons
used against me for your own protection
but I’ll take the onus
I’m wrongly outspoken
tearing through relations of recorded cordless phone line connections
one minute left…
before we’re disconnected