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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Mercy

My Many Strugglez

December 5, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

There is this known unknown, or unknown known, so to speak, about the hardships of life as a black man. I know I know, woe is me, everybody has it rough right? But just as there are different kinds of love, there are different kinds of struggle, and being black…yea, that’s a different, different kind of struggle! The problem with prison is, not who is here, because that’s just an adjustment, after all, many places like church, school, or the hospital may say this, but prison really means it when they say “We Welcome All!” and when you leave, the door man says, “Thank You Very Much For Your Time! Please Come Back Soon!” No lie, any and every kind of person is welcomed with Open Numbers(arms) in prison, but the problem is that prison embraces and reinforces prejudices and racism. Prison coerces separation and indulges in stereotypes, so imagine, being black when its ok to be reminded your color…its rough! But my problem was and is, for the longest time I wasn’t comfortable with my being black, feeling as if it was at the expense of others comfortability. Im no longer running from that reality, but I must face that all real truth of being a black man going back into society as a convicted felon. And whats more is, im actually trying to do good and create a platform that can possibly chip away at the relative uneven curves people like me will face once free again. All in all, its a scary thing, even the freedom with the independence demanded within it after being told and scheduled to do what and where for so many years, I’ve felt more robotic and less human…side note, I have slight splashes of koolaid on my shirt, you know what…you really look like a dirty sloppy ass person when you have stains on your white T. No matter what else you have on, how fresh it looks and how good you smell, just one minor stain on that white T is like an indictment…that’s kind of how it feels being black, just one smudge on my record, just one out of place word or action, or seen in the wrong area, its just…well you get it. So being black is like having a koolaid or ketchup/mustard stain on your white shirt…this makes sense right? But it takes knowing where you are, who you are, and what that looks like to be able to adjust to what’s needed and expected of you in order to thrive and succeed. It took coming to prison to contemplate what really had me imprisoned before I had arrived. Sometimes it takes looking at yourself, not just the stain, to know exactly how you got to the point where you stained that beautiful white shirt. I mean I can say that I came into this world with a stained white shirt, but to make it fair, let’s just assume we all are working with the same full deck, and its up to me to make the best out of whatever I draw, which I believe more than not. People often say when you’re caught in a dilemma, what would Jesus do? Its the wrong question, right answer kind of thing…you can’t fathom what a man so long ago would do today, but you can speak on what he did yesterday when adversity crossed him, and then ask yourself, “am I capable of doing the same right now?” And if not, why? Therein lies a truth about yourself that may help solve so much more, but we cheapen the process of betterment and self exploration by shallow or commonly accepted and asked questions that go no deeper than the now, with no room for reflection of past moments and moments to come. We get in these same monotonous cycles of “trying to change” yet doing the same thing, maybe its the words we use…maybe instead of change, we should be trying to Evolve. Evolution says to me; adapting, growing, survival, becoming, transforming, ascending, permanence, etc. But change simply is moving on to another temporary from the last. So I have to evolve my mind frame, anticipate my hardships, understand why the stains are on my shirt, question if I’m even able to grow and be better than I was the last moment in order to be able to make it past this moment and onto the next, because if better is possible, then good is never enough. Confronting issues head on will keep us from repeating these same cycles of “change” and we’ll begin to apply the necessary steps to Self Evolution. Just saying the word Evolve or Evolution sounds so much more impactful and proactive, carrying a new sense of pride. So yea, I’m a black man, life isn’t easy and once I leave prison it may get tougher, but I can’t withdraw from that fact just to feel temporarily more comfortable, I have to face that and ask myself what am I going to do about it, and be willing to ask and accept help, even if that’s just talking out my fears of freedom. Prison is a platform, I truly believe that, spending all this time self reflecting and building upon this broken image and foundation that was me, now I can speak to so many because I been through it…ALL of it, and there are people scared like me, preparing to break at any moment, confused and going through it now in their own way. I won’t say I have answers, but I have understanding, and from there, help is always possible. Because truth is, there is no one answer fit all, every life is different, so is every struggle, and the threshold to withstand it, but I’m equipped to feel with and fight for people, prison at least gave me that ability..my struggle may be different, but its still the same language, slang is still English and so is that southern talk. We ‘break’ independently, as individuals but we can heal interdependently, together. Yea, I’m black, I’ve struggled with identity, self consciousness, repressing emotions, depression, trauma, anger, impulsiveness, suicidal thoughts, and relationships…but, if better is possible, then good is never enough, so I’m Evolving at the moment from doing good to becoming better. Denying that you struggle or why you struggle will only serve to keep you in the Chains and Prison of Self, but I crave freedom, do you? No More Locks, Find Freedom By Facing Self

Filed Under: Culture, Mercy, Spirit, Trauma

I’m Weak

December 3, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I don’t like to admit that I’m weak

but we already inside these seven days

and it only took-

one to fall

You wonderful

as if I’m standing in awe

viewing a water fall

and I’m under all

Your ambiance

You got an audience

like inaugural

when u audio, I mean when u speak, u say what u mean,

You never audibled

marathon intent, coats your strength, u stay wit it like cardio

and when that water broke, them rivers rushed and those ocean tides, turned to waves

u faced it wit me, and never turned away

u soothe my spirit and quiet my voices like my favorite song

so I can admit that I’m weak when its you that makes me strong.

Filed Under: Love, Mercy, Spirit, Trauma

No Words

December 2, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

The judge dropped the gavel

his throat full of gravel

but time froze

he felt hollow

he looked at his dad

he shook his head solemnly

couldn’t look at his mom

he knew it would break him seeing her cry

so his head held high

though his knees weakened

his mouth clenched

unable to speak

his face telling a lie

body beginning to shutter

hearing the words of his defeated mother

being her only son

she cried out that she loved him

but he could’t say it

gripped by her words

he tried to say it

he just couldn’t say that he loved her back

but only diction it inside his mind

seeing the imagery of those words

murky and running like his mother’s eyelner

but he thought he could muster a ‘bye’

but he stuttered

then stumbled

beyond the threshold of the door

and as the door shut

he finally broke down…

he was just sentenced to life

and he cried in his shackles like a baby

babies can’t talk, but their cries can still be. understood

and that day, that man became a baby and his cries told more than words ever could.

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Love, Mercy, Spirit, Trauma

Take A Hike, Take A Flight, Fly A Kite, Or Drift

December 2, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Walking…I just want to walk, feeling the vibrations of my every step onto earth, observing nature going on despite my intrusions, feeling the breeze whispering secrets in my ears, the elements dancing on my skin, inhaling the fragrant air, just a stroll, with no interruptions that block my progress or force me to turn around, limiting my explorations. I want to walk and interact with life limitlessly, my best friend was driving and saw a forest as we spoke and decided to stop and take a hike and on that hike, she found a vastly rooted lone tree that reminded her of me that she took a picture of. The storied comparisons in that tree spoke to her, and she narrated that story, inspired by nature. See nature speaks to us all, but these walls quiet those voices, I just want to hear them again and listen more this time. Even to be able to travel, I’ve barely seen life, and mostly I have imagined it all within pictures, one of my bucket-dreams is to take hikes up mountains and inside of forests, or drive across country seeing all the different landmarks, architecture, and cultures, possibly even fly just to see how vast this world is, how we can be so connected and yet so far apart, I’ve never been in a plane before but I’m in prison next to an airfield and I’ve seen all types, even multicolored planes and I just go imagination crazy, like what do the see, where are the headed, wondering of all the freedom right above all my captivity…oh and train rides, I want that too, if they still do them,1st class preferably with grapes skittles and wine-Dapper Destinations! but I just want to be able to observe and connect with life outside of a TV or picture, to be able to travel and see so many dreams concocted by so many different people that came to life, and to find myself inside the be architecture of all-Nature! Is it really taboo and dangerous to fly a kite during lightening? Never flew one…Has anyone ever stopped and watched the world rain around them while under an umbrella? Just the illusion that that creates is beautiful, its like you’re inside out, you’re in the thick of it but its happening all around you, not to you, and you are for that moment, impervious to its effect…you’re walking around with your own personal shelter so to speak, designed to protect you, keeping you in and everything out…but isn’t that how life is? We get into our own personal zones of comfort and protection, expecting the world to acquiesce to us at those moments, communicating so close yet so disconnected, inside of a whole yet oblivious to the parts and its functions..like do you every find yourself thinking…What am I or are we even talking about? Why did I do that? Why do I even think like this? am I that different or are they just that careless and dumb? freaking umbrellas! Someone it becomes a phenomenon to expose ourselves to the rain. Like it is so romantic, daring, rebellious, audacious, wild, unconventional, and cinematic…its just water! But there it is, water that can’t stain you but put a damper on what it is that you use to communicate who you are, how you feel, and how you value yourself…aka clothes, or our fabric disguises. We become so thin and thin skin that we rather just embrace life at an arm’s length, and voyeurism is the new hug, and exhibitionism is the new curiosity, stepping outside of your comfort to view other pleasures outside of yourself that may still stimulate some type of happiness that we can’t quite maintain as much as we need too. When has being happy become an event or surprise, somehow its so far contrasted from our normal states of being, as if people don’t feel unless they can speak about how what they feel hurts. People want to cry, grieve, and mourn together bto create lasting memories of bonds that blossomed from hard times just as much as they want selfies and groupies of moments they wish could last longer than that click! Well I’m tired of accepting pain, I want to live daily like a selfie or groupie lol, that sounds funny in retrospect, I want to stop feeling so inside out and just feel and embrace and experience and connect…im tired of feeling distant, I want to be present and contemplate everything I perceive instead of glancing at life! I want to be thicker than my fabric…I don’t know the answer to how to do all these things besides to just live and quit “just trying” to live. Maybe it can all start with just taking a hike, taking a flight, or flying a kite in every capacity of its positive connotations, not the negatively sounding idioms or sayings, that are used to dismiss people by saying that. I wonder if being a prison philosopher is a paradox, after all philosophy is just questioning what is, as if there is more, I mean that its not popular thought to view prisoners as thinkers, but then again, free people don’t think and question enough, maybe that quality is what keeps too many in their own self imposed prisons…maybe we aren’t so different, just like the plane fight, we’re all so connected yet so far apart…your experience is my own, and my own experience isn’t yours…

but we all experience, life should be spent more trying to experience and not straying away from experience. So, take a hike

take a flight, or fly a kite..or maybe we should draft, more than we drift?

I heard this quote from a movie that said, I think it was James Bond “you’re just a kite caught inside a hurricane…”

story of my life…story of life…sometimes life seems to big for me, right? But then I remember, what is life…without me?

Maybe Life, should experience me…

So hears to being Larger Than Life!

YoungR.U.S.S!

WayOfLife!

Filed Under: Inside, Love, Mercy, Spirit

I Know How She Feels, I Promise

November 27, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I know how she feels, I promise

I know what she means

about being set free

she wants to leave on her terms

but now I’m the tree

that’s bearing her leaves

but I take the breeze

and though it may freeze

I am at peace

because there’s more to me

and she’s just ‘A’ piece

I cut off my sleeve

my cuff isn’t linked

so I too, can leave on my terms

don’t feel guilty

we all aren’t innocent..

I know how she feel, I promise

cuz I felt alone

when I pick up the phone

and I’m dialing her number, but it feel too long

and I try to do right, but I keep doing wrong

and I listen to songs

that may tell me the truth

becuz I can not be that honest

no, I just can’t be that honest

I can not give her that power

I am a man, so I’m faulty

and that’s no excuse

but I am not use

to not feeling used

and I know she gets used

and I know she too use

to that kinda abuse

though I try to get thru.

Its exhausting

then she tries to get thru, but we’re exhausted

just tell her, I know how she feel, and let’s be honest…bye

Filed Under: Culture, Love, Mercy, Spirit, Trauma

Mastered Pieces

November 26, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Mastered pieces

Making up a masterpiece..

speaking of,

That hand

her hand

and its surface

that texture

a smoothness coupling a purposeful yet vague roughness

not from labor

but produced from hairs emerging upon her surface

encapsulating her radiant warmth

protecting it from the elements

an element of her own

certainly it must have been crafted within the cosmos that could only hope to marvel at a heaven a heaven

that has a mind and eye for intrinsic value with synchronizing detail

overflowing with designs even more intricate than that of the universe

only a heaven, ripe with divine orchestration could compose such an architecturing of angelic skin

where was I when I first laid eyes upon its color

a mix of colours and the contours!

where did I go, the moment…that moment…thee moment

I placed my own hand atop hers

that fragrance took me to a different plane

it lit a thirst and a wonder like a fiery furnace so deep within and beyond my sense of what’s real

that I soon became high from inhaling its essence smell

became virtue

aura, her aura, became tattoo

ambiance, her ambiance, became a light, however distant or close, but near enough to see a way throughout darkness

encompassing with it a belief in possibility

what did I experience, ecstasy?

drifting into a world of

fantasy

tantalization

serendipity

enchantment

myth and urban legend would envy her story

because her lore

held with it, an addictive romantic fiction

all from her touch

the touching

the feeling

the capturing of her hand

its not that romance is dead

or that it is unreal

but that it is so real and yet it is rarely captured enough to be revered as something to be believed in

so after life long soughts, can only harbor assumptions of it being fantasy all the while its mystery

trailblazes journeys

seeking from it,

what lay unknown yet dreamed about

I can never forget its texture,

the grace of her feel and heat

I never washed her scent from me

I slept as her smell comforted me

breathing in deeply, reinvigorated with every chest inflation

inhaling her essence

made her too real to not dream about

and what I saw, what comforted me and blotted out the darkness of my environment was her hand for there was nothing more I needed to see

because the whole isn’t necessary in understanding the parts

the parts have their own individual attributes perfuming their own identities that only enhance the whole

the parts blaze all on their own

as proof to ‘bits’ of perfection

her hand, a mastered piece

scribing the story of a masterpiece only written in the stars

I’ve laid my eyes upon, listened to, inhaled and even felt the wonder of that story

and the only mystery I have left to my senses, is consuming the taste of her literary better the experience or better the mystery?

I’ll ponder that question for a lifetime

maybe its the unknowing that compliments intrigue

and the knowing that compliments jade

some things you just have to try

wonder versus experience

two concepts within a master’s mind a master tries to mastermind while appraising a mastered piece of a masterpiece

her hand

Filed Under: Love, Mercy, Spirit

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Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is a collection of Russell Wardlow’s prose and poetry written entirely behind bars. Through writings on family, spirituality, freedom, love, justice, redemption, and vulnerability, Russell seeks to show the humanity and hope of individuals like himself who are incarcerated.

Read More

  • Whose Mind is it Anyway June 30, 2022
  • Objects June 30, 2022
  • Same Thang, Different Name June 30, 2022
  • Optical Ill-lusions June 30, 2022
  • Hollow Symbols June 30, 2022

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