Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Inside

Expendable

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is not life worth living for?
then why hast thou punished my effort
fore I have been
as nature has nurtured me to become
a hunter
void of a gatherer
therefore I did
with what I had
and created opportunity to live
since chance was seldom provided
but you call me criminal
because I defied your ever-changing rules
well, riddle me this

who am I?
unapologetic rebel
relentless revolutionary
resilient seeker
radical resolve

where am I?
excluded
secluded
isolated

what am I?
alienated
cast out
black sheep
scapegoat

why am I?
because everyone
doesn’t fit the big picture
the servers or served
though to give service worth
there must be a service to work
this is a life-sentenced I was served at birth
by prejudices that cheapened my worth

now how can this still be,
in the land of the free?
‘I don’t know, you tell me…’

Mental Warfare

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I ran into a barrier of some sort
falling down from the brunt impact
surprise and pain blended like a cocktail
by cause of reflex, I began rubbing at my smarting forehead
as if checking to see if it was still intact
composure slightly regained
and the ebb of collision waning
I began looking up, to my surprise
there was nothing there, but air
after standing up,
I walked towards the former point of impact
reaching out, unsure now
as if a perfectly clean glass sliding door faced me
and I an unknowing bird
insecure by the lesson learned,
of blunt impact
I couldn’t proceed any further
unable to feel a barrier, but my body just stopped
as others looked at me confused, obviously
they walked with ease beyond where I had been stuck
I then became a spectacle, and fears became realized
as what lied in front of me came into view
I was unable to get myself to step foot in the parking lot of my freedom
from beyond this prison structure
see, I was just recently released, so to speak
I was free
but my mind wasn’t
and my imprisoned mind wouldn’t allow me to gather or proceed
any further
until I released it as well
fear was my first prison
and the longest lasting one
what is freedom with fear, but a cycle
and my yesterdays were doomed to repeat themselves
for the first time, I’ll say it out loud
I’m ready freedom, release me fear
I don’t need you holding me back any further
there is much to more ahead to gain
with this new confidence awareness and drive,
I stepped foot in the parking lot
and the rest, will be history

High Thoughts

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to a person in prison. Let’s say
me. Viewing a person who thinks
highly of themselves
what a wonderful shell, to Crack!

bravado is faked or feigned in prison,
but whichever ‘f’ word bravado follows
it is a constant hard pill to swallow
yet it is earned

I know the line between thinking highly
of oneself is an ignorant pride in
the world. I know that line is as thin
as the fear that cracks it

In prison, thoughts of self are had, but
they are put to the test, and most
willingly give their bodies as the
ultimate price of how they see themselves

what tests have you weathered?
huh, Ms or Mr high and mighty
how did you earn this presence
that loosely flaunts vigorously?

would you suffer for your anecdotal
servings of pride? would you sacrifice
every comfort for your right to be seen
and titled as you believe yourself to be

in the face of fear and self-preservation, who
are you anyway? who is any of us?
do you even know? do you wanna find out?
even in prison there are the meek

those aren’t weak men, but men who have
already proved all there is to prove
whom rather be within themselves
not imposed upon everyone else

bring your chin down a notch
you’ll still be seen

Flame Thrower

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celly
eh mhm…
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
damn I can’t have any peace and quiet
because you can’t keep still and be silent
I swear, I swear I’m beginning to feel myself build up fire
and become a napalm all of myself
as my peace as been thrown by the wayside
I am emblazoned inferno
my body is flame which I am ready to throw
and my aim is at the steady disturbance which has become pest to my peace and sanity
You
you ignite a velocity within me that feels rocket-propelled
and I am burning inside to fly…
off this bunk
and all over this room

No Fragility

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I made my heart a fortress
my man made mind a forest
pondering my fortune
forged from fences and fighting fears
enduring the futility of future’s forecasts
a fatal fate figured and feigned upon my face
fatigued fought
fingers form fists
measure fiercely fixes my features
ferocious flames unkenneled within my figure
faculties preparing for feast or famine
focused fiery eyes as piercing as a falcons
finally, I’ve made my being a force
no feelings fomented
for it’s forbidden
as I am a fugitive from freedom

Just Waiting on You is All

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a person died…inside of here
he could’ve been saved
but the responders…correctional officers
were slow of feet and care
taking the long way instead of through the grass
walking back to get the gurney instead of running
standing over him while waiting for a gurney
and then, finally then, they attempted CPR
maybe they assumed he was high
but they didn’t value his breath, nor his time
time which he had been paying for with his life
day in and day out, inside of prison
and as I watched from the moment he fell-
ghostly white-
to the time he was carted out
I thought about those themes
care
assumption
time
payment
and patience
so while you have been telling me…
urging us rather, to be patient
another inmate died
right before our eyes
no mourners or grievers
just back to business as usual
after all, we only have so much yard time in a day
6 hours at max, if you wanted to know
but also while we’ve been being patient
freedom has been lost
more people have came into prison, than released
paroles have been revoked
more have died at the hands of police brutality
and corrections negligence
opportunities have come and gone
and nothing has remotely changed
but I’m being good and patient