• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer

Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

  • Home
  • About
  • Prose
    • Culture
    • Inside
    • Love
    • Mercy
    • Spirit
    • Trauma
  • Listen
  • News
  • Connect
  • Support

Spirit

I’m All In Now

December 7, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I’m all in now

but I’m fallin down

so I’m callin out

cause I’m fallin still-

where is the ground?

where are you now?

when I call your name

I don’t hear a sound

I fear my voice

the echoes tell truths

that I am alone

alone without you

alone in this room

who turned out the lights?

I turned around

when you turned me down.

I closed my eyes

tears formed a line

the line that I draw

a line you still cross

cross out the day

the day that we met

cross out my picture

so you will forget

and can’t see me when

when you close your eyes

and can’t hear my voice

and can’t see me cry.

I’m fallin down

cause I fell for you

I did it on my own

but I am your fool.

you love the power

the power that u have

the power you hold over

over my head.

can’t go to sleep

I’m slow to speak

head over feet

cuz I was head over…hills.

I am so ill

u broke my will

those flowers will wilt but

I love u still.

Though your heart is steel

staring at our stills

those moments that we steal

are none of them real.

I was just reeled

but I can not deal

I was your shield

but where is my shield?

Are we stuck in nil

would you rather I kneel?

Do you ever feel?

when you see me…falling…still?

Filed Under: Culture, Love, Spirit, Trauma

Titanic

December 6, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Let’s take a chance on this titanic

even tho its a sinking ship, I’m a hopeless romantic

plus we shouldn’t over think our possible ending, let’s be organic

its to our benefit to see things better than they appear, we’ll add to this vantage, for our own advantage

I call a few times, she doesn’t answer

shh, voices, Russell don’t panic

maybe she sleepin

and doesn’t see it

quick, come up with a dozen reasons

to try and ignore that my stomach is seizing

self consciousness is so misleading

calm your thoughts, control your breathing

on this brisk summer evening

amongst the sun and the breezes

although the weather feels to fair to wonder if someone is cheating

let go of that heart that u wear under ur sleeve and leave it to the seamstress

maybe she’ll message me later, or maybe not…plucking petals

love comes with a dozen levels

those moments u call out, and u aren’t heard but hear a hundred echoes

there goes those voices, they’re far from helpful

let go

or, should I voice my thoughts

but at what cost

not all honesty is truth

so the way some things come across

may accelerate the loss

ugh

I’m at a loss

what do I do

trying to play it cool

may only prolong me feeling like a fool …

in the end

damn it I thought I said we shouldn’t over think our possible ending

but fears come to light when you live in the shadow of foreshadowing

I try to weather my own forecast that forms forks in the road

consuming half-hearted whichever direction I take

errrrr

press the brakes

shit!

too late

gulp that sour pride with the sugarry brim that blinds the truth for the moment until you

swallow hard, divorcing the responsibility of when men mess up because we still call it a miss-take

she was just out of signal, out of range

that text was confirmed sent the same time you couldn’t cancel the one that you sent

reading while wishing you weren’t lucid

feeling so stupid

when we embrace self doubt, thoughts can turn maleficent

the whole time you were assuming, she was thinking of you and had been trying to get ahold of you ever since

the time stamp you read guiltily is her innocent evidence

yea, she took a chance on that titanic

she just didn’t know that the ship would be sunken by a hopeless romantic

she said goodbye, jack!

Filed Under: Culture, Love, Spirit, Trauma

Blind Love

December 6, 2019 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

You been chasing blind love with an anchor on your ankle

and a black eye from its failed attempts because you never learned, yet still you’re full of child

like hope…I swear I believe in it like you do

that’s why I take inventory of every bit of pain I’ve experienced on my quest to possess it in every lasting way possible, tho I am unsure of how to accomplish that

at least I learn, not to turn away but to find another way, because going the same way always ends with me losing my way

a gluten for abuse it seems, chasing love comes off a little masochistic huh

but like a wild kid learning with every experience, I’ll take these black eyes with pride and a smile, full of scrapes and scuffs, I may cry but I’ll get back up and do it all over again

because I get more than I lose, so what’s a bruise or two but a few clues for a new route

I’ll never let you down, never forget you or leave you alone and I’ll always chase you

until you’re mine, besides we’re made for each other

blind love.

Filed Under: Love, Mercy, Spirit

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

  • « Go to Previous Page
  • Go to page 1
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Go to page 58
  • Go to page 59
  • Go to page 60
  • Go to page 61
  • Go to page 62
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Go to page 77
  • Go to Next Page »

Primary Sidebar

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

Themes

  • Culture
  • Inside
  • Love
  • Mercy
  • Spirit
  • Trauma
  • Uncategorized

Footer

Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is sponsored by giveabeat.org

  • Instagram

Navigation

  • Home
  • About
  • Prose
  • Listen
  • News
  • Connect
  • Support

Themes

  • Culture
  • Inside
  • Love
  • Mercy
  • Spirit
  • Trauma
  • Uncategorized

Prose of a Con © 2026 · web design by Studio Lyko