Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Spirit

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?

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?

You Think

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You think that you know me,

you don’t.

You think that you want me,

you won’t.

You think you understand me,

you don’t.

You think it don’t matter,

it does.

You think that you see me,

you don’t.

You think that you hear me,

you can’t.

You think you won’t leave me,

you’ll leave.

I say it ain’t easy,

believe.

Just say goodbye,

‘fore you leave.

But that makes it hard,

so you won’t.

I’ll say goodbye,

‘fore you do.

No it’s not me,

it’s just you.

Top Ten Coming Home-Kit for Your Prodigal Prisoner

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In no specific order, besides the first one!

1.Box of Skittles – as if there’s something greater in life?!

2.Basket of Grapes- food of the Gods, level up!

3.Crate of Wine-it’s a lifestyle change, WayofLife-style! tip, sip!

4. Custom Shower Head – rainfall rainforest! Close your eyes and imagine! water pressure and filtered water is so underrated!

5. Custom Mattress/MyPillow – my sleep took years off me, I need peace not pain in my slumber

6. Bath Kit – never know you needed a bath, til I couldn’t have one, bubble, salt, milk w.e.!

7. Chiropractor Appointment – get the kinks out, it will hurt SO GOOD

8.Prostate Exam – freedom with surprise news of cancer or dysfunctions is no freedom at all!

9. Colonoscopy – system cleanse detox and reset, uh duh!

10.Massage/Spa parlor – to be taken care of exfoliated and decompressed sounds a lot like sex to the senses!

You Need People Like Me

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You know that scene on Scarface when he’s out to eat with his girl, and he gets all drunk and belligerent, and goes off on that “bad guy” tyrant.

That’s how I feel now, I mean I really identify with that.

“Because you don’t have the balls to chase your dreams”

I look crazy speaking from prison about my vision, passions and dreams, because I guess I’m where I shouldn’t have any.

I guess dreams are only for free people?

Well then how can a person make it through prison if they couldn’t fantasize of a better life, and then put the work in to manifest that belief while in a state of stop?

Because people like me, you get to hide behind your lies, “I always speak the truth, even when I lie I speak the truth”

A lot of people don’t want to hear the truth about my life or life behind these walls and locked doors.

Part-time warriors and part-time worriers is what life gets divided into.

If I speak the truth, how many will listen?

But if I craft a lie to better acquiesce to the reality that you feel more comfortable believing in, then even in that, I’m speaking a truth about the world.

So yea, I’ll play the bad guy to the world,

to everyone too blameless to make mistakes,

to everyone hiding behind people like me.

I’ll take that,

because in this, I get to finally be free…

and your freedom becomes more illusion and fairy tale,

but who doesn’t like a good fairy tale or illusion,

so,

YOU NEED PEOPLE LIKE ME!

SO YOU CAN SAY,

THAT’S THE BAD GUY!

SO SAY GOODNIGHT

TO THE BAD GUY,

BECAUSE THERE’LL NEVER BE ANOTHER ONE LIKE ME!

I Wonder…

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What am I?

What, not who, because when things get and got bad, I’m treated more like a what, and not a who.

So, what am I?

A collapsing building, a spiraling/crashing plane, or a sinking ship?

I mean I can hear it how certain people talk or respond to me…

as if I should be so lucky to have their attention since I’m in prison…

or like I’m damaged goods and served better at a distance or no contact at all as if I’m toxic or contagious…

or like they always knew my potential, and now its safe to acknowledge me again now.

But then there’s those few, that never lost sight of me, never lost faith in me, and have always and continue to talk to me like a who.

A who that is still important to them, a who that isn’t reminded of the where I reside or what I did, but the how I’m salvaging the wreck that was me.

Whether a collapsing building, a crashing plane, or a sinking ship..

they’ve stayed around and never abandoned,

believing that one in a million chance of survival was possible and worth the risk in staying around, knowing that it would be alright and better on the other side and honestly, they just wanted front row seats to the process.

Because hearing it second hand, or coming back around Kate just wouldn’t have been as satisfying.

When things go bad, we’re reminded who we are, in the eyes of those we believed believed in us. Those closer than most that we said we loved…

I’m not toxic anymore, but still just in case, to keep yourself safe, do us both a favor and stay at a distance. I have just enough around me, which happened to be the only ones I needed, no one can do it alone.

Shout out to my first responders and first ridiculers, you showed me who, not what, I am, and more importantly, you showed me you, Priceless! Which is good, because coming out of prison I’ll be needing to spend a lot of money that I don’t have yet starting all over, Sheesh! Dodged one!

Prison wisdom: Fuck what they say, watch what they do.

I wonder…

Why is the misery of people or an animal, a source entertainment or income for a branch of societies that would almost seem like puppet masters.

Like a zoo, taking animals outside of their natural habitat for our amusement.

Or what if you threw a steak or a gazelle in a lions den full of hungry lions with a camera, that’d be great right?

Or what about gladiators in Rome?

What about black men in low income areas pitted against each other for limited resources where competition and crude survival instincts are endorsed only to end with their deaths or imprisonment where they fight in that gladiators arena until freed or for a life time…

Are you not Entertained?!

Yea we have a problem.

We’re sick, complaining about the symptoms of our virile system, but love the show and profits!

America, The New Rome