Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Inside

Paper People

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Being paroled has to do with time served and remorse.

The only flaw in that is most of our acts of remorse is voluntary and not put on record

so its a matter of what we say vs what they choose to believe.

Remorse and Contrition is only valid within shallow detached parameters they set-

which are narrow vague and barely effective programs

and avoiding misconduct reports

based on petty rules inconsistently enforced

depending temperament of C.O.’s

hey don’t hear about our community outreach

future goals

educational achievements

bridging parental gaps

mending relationships

volunteer peer guidance tutoring and encouragement

coordinating inmate ran religions and clubs

nor of my friend that secretly takes a vow of silence on the anniversary of the victim of his crime

he feels it

but they’ll never know.

They rather read a paper

not the person.

Pushing soulless unacclimated programs

which build walls between us and the walls.

We wait behind

We aren’t disconnected

Paper is the disconnect

They are disconnected.

Who Are People, But For Their Relations And Relationships?

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“Who are people, but for their relations and relationships?”

What if you were told that for a certain number of years, that you wouldn’t matter, that you would barely be seen, heard, touched, acknowledged, or remembered?

That you’d almost cease to exist in the minds and eyes of those that once knew and loved you, let alone the whole world?

Basically your whole existence would become null and void,

a black hole of sorts.

How would you deal with that reality of not mattering and being the equivalent of a ghost- transparent and melancholy in memory, starving for attention?

That reality is a slow death, because all we know and consider as life is that which we see, interact, and connect with.

That time given of non-existence, is a coffin, with a person inside banging, screaming

“I’m not dead!”

yet unheard, and left alone.

Now add the constructs of distance, time constrained and procedurally scrutinized visits, some visits non-contact which serve to slowly cut off emotional ties cruelly, and monitored phone calls that end with the reminding of your communicational mortality.

What you have, is a life clinging to the scarce hope of relevance and love, before their mind tilts on the edge towards survival with only animalistic instincts, away from human emotion and bonding, due to inhumane practices in prison of limited contact.

So my challenge to you is-

if you have a loved one incarcerated,

Consider what your shelf life would be before you imploded from lack of love and relevance, then strive to reach out before that shelf life runs its course and be consistent.

By sacrificing a little of your time and comfortability, you will help them remember that they are loved and they matter.

Because a mind without relations and relationship,

is not the mind of a better person.

That mind is ailed and weak, suffering because that person has been separated from the very reasons we live and value life.

Therefore, being released back into that same society will not automatically be a better experience, it’ll be confusing, too fast, and hard to trust.

After abandonment, loved ones won’t look the same in their eyes, nor their deprived minds and hearts.

We can all stand up, but besides taking a stand, the hardest stance in life, is Understanding.

Put on our shoes for a sec, now what do you see?

Now, can you deal with that view?

Can You Live Without Freedom?

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Can you Live without Freedom?

If not, then the question is,

Are you Free?

Since you breath, think, and feel,

then naturally you exist,

meaning you are only alive,

not that you have Lived.

What is Living worth to you?

What does Living mean to you?

So I ask, what, or how much would you sacrifice to find Tru Freedom and Happiness?

Also within that freedom,

you finally know and capture real love and contentment with life.

Or, would you rather to just be safe-

comfortable not risking what you already have regardless of whatever fulfilling unknowns you could gain along the way?

So, are you truly free and happy?

Are you willing to be?

Maybe you rather complain about the repetitive nature of disappointment you fall prey to, making no real hard moves to change your reality, because you fear the price that it may bear with it.

Tru Freedom is fearful.

Fear sent me to real prison,

being too stuck in my ways to brave another path outside of my sight and knowledge.

Tru Freedom,

what does that mean?

What would that look like? Do you even wanna know?

To contemplate flight, you would have to understand what has you grounded.

So to contemplate Freedom, you have to understand what has you imprisoned, what has you doing time?

Is it solely internal, meaning just you? Or is it external, the weight of other’s judgement? Perception? Religion? Relationships? Love? Morals? Values? Work? Family? Life? Social Media? Societal Pressures? Expectations?

Either way, its still in your control, and the most important thing is that you realize it. Then you can find whatever Freedom means to you.

Or stop complaining and just be content if you don’t desire to work to change the conditions of the time we all face and endure.

Perspective, someone is always going through worst than you. Once you have more control over your life-the things you absorb and believe in, then share it. Once you’re Freed, then its the company you keep that helps you maintain that Freedom.

Tru Freedom is slave to Choice.

Choose to Free yourself, or be imprisoned by everyone else.

I’ve already partially escaped the prison that you’re facing,

now I’m waiting patiently to walk out of this one that you see me in,

hoping I can be a beacon for those left in my wake,

and sadly,

those on the way.

T.R.U. Freedom- is

Transcendent,

Reflective, and

Uniting.

Whatever that means to you,

grab it,

and never let go,

because the world doesn’t mind keeping you in bondage.

Lonely Stanzas

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I have no relief

from a future full of ghosts

I cant find release

though I long for it the most

these chains are my leash

I feel every bit like a dog

I just want to leave

how long is this fall?

I’m struggling believe me

writing hasn’t worked lately

I hope those that I have wont leave me

the free world has so many that can replace me

I’ve succumbed to the depths of a barrel in need of a bottle

in need of some dialogue, not another follow

full of wholesome words I swallow

I’m still hollow…

I’m still hollow…

I feel shallow…

I will wallow…

in pill bottles…

I feel

I try to build and heal

yet still whats veiled

is I will follow.

That same darkness

I’m so cold

I find warmth in company

distance is frigid.

lLnely as echoes

no one answers

I know so many they forget a lot, or forget about me

whats the point of tentacles if I cant reach out grab and hold onto something

prison has kept me closely distant

communication keeps me distantly close

I choose the middle.

Wont know if it’ll help or change a thing

oh well, I rather have it

though I still cant get it

it’s so close now that its less comfort and more torture.

I don’t know what any of this means but, misery loves company only so that it cant be misery no longer, right?

Unspoken

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A corner

more out of view

we say its “ducked off”

there’s two benches

two Blacks

and

two Mexicans

we all know each other

well enough to share laughs

then another comes

we all knew him

he needed a seat

he paused for a second

viewing his options

we all love our space

regardless,

one bench would now be crowded

he was Black

everyone will always choose the edge

more safe comfortable advantageous, and less locked in

I guess

its just instinct

I was closest to the edge

instinctively

I moved closer to it

compromise the middle between me and another was now open

nothing said

he sat down

in the less comforting

least advantageous

least safe

and more locked in seat

nothing said

silently we all knew what was expected

you may not get it

but prison made segregation the thing again

as if there’s another way?

and as I write this

four more of my kind have come around

the Mexicans got up

silently outnumbered

because its all about colors and numbers

and now the ducked off corner

is all Blacked out

not enough seats

we love our space

most to stand

and it just became the spot

gravity I guess

from slightly out of sight

to the most seen

by inmate and guard alike

but we don’t notice

though, we know it

unspoken.

PrisonedLove, LovePrisoner

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Imprisoned Love,

I’m in prison Love,

but she says,

Love, is prison

What’s the value of a man in prison?

What’s the value of loving a man inside a prison?

Does it also make you inside of a prison?

Isn’t love a set of confines,

with whom you confide?

What if the love you confide,

is inside confines,

unless love is blind,

then are you not confined in it?

All this judgement about where I’m at,

but indeed,

in its own way,

Love, is prison.

The difference is,

I want to be free,

but do you?