Hate to see you go…but I love watching you walk away.
Being at this new facility is bitter sweet. You get to see so many people leave week after week, the changeover is spectacular and generates hope…until you see the next bunch of people pouring in. And suddenly you’re reminded of the well oiled machine still in its perfecting perpetuating cycle, replacing old parts with new parts. But within this cycle, you find yourself getting attached to some of the gears, though attachment is the least on your list of needs. But sometimes you can’t help but to vibe with a kin spirit enduring your same strife. Those bonds create a haven within this cycle of time and make it all the more bearable. They become a part of your schedule…a valuable part of your day and the up keeping of your hope, sanity, and strength. Things are always kept in perspective, until that gear which shifts you so effortless has reached its life span and it is his time to depart. You dread the day, yet you are happy for him, you don’t wish to trade places, only to not feel the void that will accompany his absence. You try to withdraw slowly, even making jokes about pulling away to soften the blow of his upcoming disappearing act, but you still want to be as supportive as possible and replant the necessary tools in his mind to not comeback to this factory. And then…he’s gone. Bitter, SWEET. My day will come, one day…and until then, I hate to see them go but love to see them walk away.
Spirit
Pro se Con-tints
I find more strength and purpose the more people reach out, thank you, this is a lonely road we treck in life sometimes. The parole board laid me down for 2 years, which only set the groundwork for more to be accomplished. Thinking of my sons, but I hope you all stay on this ride with me, and thank you for your encouragement. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t hard and a little disheartening, but there’s strength in every struggle, and this is the cultivation of a diamond! Practice is the preacher, passion preceded pursuit, pursuit was the predecessor of purpose, and personification embodied purpose, principles are paramount and promises become parliment in the paradise we find in paradoxes…Possibility is the paragonic pyramid of Potential shining like prisms, that can’t even be dimmed by prison..because prison is only a matter of perception to each person. Peace can only be pierced by procedure, so we can find power outside of parallels and architect perpendicular processes of progression within life called, PoetryInMotion.
Prosed Con-fession:
I joke with my best friend Katie that I don’t know who is better, you, or God. She says God of course because he works through her and she is who she is because of God. I mean, do you know how it feels to have people in your corner that engineer such a belief and effort in you beyond the many wrongs you have exhibited, but have an endless faith of who you really are, even when you may question it or not know at times? So how could I not see God and believe in him because the friendship I receive is beyond explanation. I may never be religious per say, or I guess title myself outside of anything than a believer of a power greater than myself, of spirituality and divinity, of a God, my God. I’d be a fool not to recognize the power of Jesus Christ in my life. God, you have gave me the best type of friends that I can call family that have championed a belief in me which has woken me up at the right time. You have protected and built my two sons as strong, talented, beautiful kids with the work of their mothers despite my absence. You have saved my life when I felt I may lose mine or have to take life in order to survive inside these prison walls. You were a voice when I never reached out to you or any friends/family while I spent lonely nights in the hole and dangerous days walking within this barbed wire. You have given me a voice from feeling silenced by a sentence; you demonstrate in so many ways that there have been signs that I’ve ignored and now that I am ready to receive you, I see you in so many things each day. I used to have to have the answers for every problem in my life, but you bare that answer. How many times have I neglected belief in you and considered reason within the temporary things that do not have the capacity to love me back, like gangs, material things, women without virtues and pride. I can say so much more, like how you got me here, out of Tecumseh, and how you have shown me that the talents I have been blessed with are to be used for the glory of you by helping people that struggle just like me, because love and struggle are human issues and with you, I know I can affect change and healing in so many, starting with myself, my sons, their mothers, my friends and family, and the many people wanting to be heard and understood. God, I accept you as my Lord and Savior, today and for the rest of the days of my life. I may fall, but you knew when that would happen and already laid out a plan on how I can rise back up again. I’m not perfect but you are, so I know exactly who to call on when my flaws surface. So the answer is that the greatest is..Ka.. I mean God! ha, He’s got to have a sense of humor right? I mean he created me, but is it still a joke if he saw it coming? Some answers I’ll never know and never need, but he is the one I will always have and eternally need…believe, there’s signs around us all. Don’t be too naïve to try and solve a problem within a life you can’t fully comprehend, believe, believe in something greater than self. I heard a movie quote on Lucy posing the question, if “we focus more on having than being?” The more we reach for inanimate things outside of self, the further we get from self, which is the further we veer from God. I’ve found my answer, and so after so long, if you’re still searching than…
PROS’dCON-science
What is it called when you search and search for something or maybe you’ve ran from it unknowingly but ultimately it was your end goal? The face of your biggest hope, the glow of your highest achievement, never knowing how to reach that feat, because everything you tried was wrong, so you feared the attempt. Somehow you gravitated further and further away while still grabbing at its air, masked as dreams. So what is it called when you finally get there, or at least close? When it becomes a real possibility, no more a wish fantasy or figment of imagination. What is that feeling you feel, that intense ray of light inside you, the invisible puppeteer pulling at the corners of your mouth, that enchanting anticipation when work becomes worth and a win. Though a slight nervous twitch wades the crevices of this hypnotic reverie because you are now aware of having something to lose again, after knowing so intimately what the plummet of loss feels and looks like…those abyss like caverns of emptiness. But who cares, because you are almost there, you can sense it, but patience isn’t lost upon your euphoric state, you know to be mindful and enjoy the process, to sympathize with its ebbs and flows. Is this why capture after pursuit feels so glorious? Is this the prized feeling of delayed vs instant gratification? Why is it that the wait builds the quality of the things we journey for and seek? Is it suspense, a building anticipatory momentum of promised possession worked for along with sacrifices endured? The cliché notion of ‘first times’ take on new meanings when lost times are attached, along with the dynamic contrasts of losing and leaving that love you lost…until ‘this’ feeling. This feeling…beyond all the descriptive reasoning, I understand it now, everything doesn’t have a certain sense to be made, some sense lies outside the paradigm of an explainable accepted norm..so I get it, this feeling garners envy, it’s what we all seek, not always clear-being the phantom we all chase. It’s not just an answer, but an understanding of something greater than self…this feeling is PURPOSE!!!
Six letters-the last two sound refreshingly like a dragged out exhale, ‘ahhhh’ (sigh or yell) either way feels good 😉
Don’t trust me
observe me
trust your eyes
Prose of a CON-fession:
Honesty isn’t the easiest policy when leaping out alone with no certainty of how it’ll be received. I feel I’ve been the up most honest about my past; I’ve worn it thick on one sleeve, with my heart beating on the other, but today it seems I may have left some things out. I had my first son May 12th, 2009 with the love of my life at that point. We were both young and knew nothing about love, and me, I was battling so many scars of my past that I hid because of my shame of what I went through and had seen growing up. Instead of deal with it, I covered it in my relationships, wanting to love and be loved, to have my own family. But my past horrors and fears surfaced in my own life because what I ran from, I soon became. I cheated. I lied. I screamed. I cursed. I called names. I kept score. I emotionally battered, physically intimidated and abused and mentally manipulated people. One of those people, my son Josiah’s mom. No, we both didn’t handle things well together, as people, parents and adults, but as a man, I hold most of that responsibility. I think time and time again of the moments I could’ve salvaged our family, but I didn’t. My son became apart of that mayhem with us living under the same roof. I try to tell myself I never hurt him but the truth is, I did, I hurt his mother, I broke our family, I didn’t fix what became unrepairable. How do you measure hurt on kids? Scars, I still deal with mine and I’m damn near 30! So in retrospect, him observing my behavior affected him in some way that I refused to acknowledge then until now. I also neglected him by waiting so long to try to reconcile the differences between me and his mother Brittney, believing time heals wounds, but it never healed mine. The things we tell ourselves to avoid facing ourselves, Nah I was just being a coward, afraid and ashamed. I’m sure many men go through these battles that keep them from reconciling issues, wanting to blame the other half as having some culpability, but it’s just deflection. Emotions seemed so weak. I wanted to portray strength, as many men do, but that bullshit show of testosterone is as pointless as women taking estrogen pills. I just might maybe have that opportunity to reconcile with her in some way, and I will be talking to her for the first time in so many years. I’m scared I admit, even ashamed to admit how long it’s been, another omission because I know it reflects on how long I’ve been away from my son. And all I want is what she is willing to give, no more, even if just pictures, I will Not try to speak of what I want, I’m OK with time and the process, but I admire her strength in being big enough to want to talk to me after all I put her through. I tried to keep from mentioning my son’s name for privacy, respect and mostly shame on the part of my first son. A result of this has made it seem like I love one more than the other or don’t care. How do you walk the line of respect and fear while trying to use your words as a platform for an emotional and truth outlet that may inspire others, but still withholding? I guess the problem was that if I have to question whether to withhold, then I have to confess more and stay genuine. It’s scary, I paint myself as a monster but I hope to be seen as any thing than, an inspiration for at least one person to heal and find strength in my story. I’m still learning, bear with me…I thought surviving wars and riots in prison was my toughest battle, but it’s really this…this moment I become more of a man, learning the lessons of a flawed absent father, and humbling myself knowing that my first great love has gone through more because of me, instead of me shielding him. Humble…that’s the word, when no extra words need to surface from the depths of fear, because fear clouds truth and reality. So, today I take my biggest leap and I’m ready to be beat down and disappointed, because it’s not about me, that’s what us parents get wrong, it’s never about us, it’s about our kids, so we shouldn’t hide our agendas, fears and pains inside of our children. Just as I still have questions for my mom, he will one day have questions for me. I’m sorry again Brittney, I’m sorry Josiah Henry-James Wardlow, I love you, and I’m a better man now, than that you ever knew. I can’t wait until I get that chance to love you the right way and be your dad that not only gave you half your genes but all your good looks, 😉 (Joking, your mom is gorgeous)..day-by-day.
I’m sorry if I ruined my image to anyone that reads this, but all truth isn’t glamour, and I started out not so pretty myself. But this is about making positives out of negative, beauty behind ugly, something deeper beyond makeup. It’s not easy, but Life, Forgiveness, Healing, Learning, Growing and Love, are all a process, and that’s the worth- Trust the Process and endure the setbacks and pains along the way. If you know any men hiding/hurting/healing the same way I used to…now you know. Women, men will never be as strong as you are, recognize that and communicate because we Never do like we should until a whole disaster lies at our feet. Face it, that’s real bravery, because running from emotions creates darkness and leaves you blind to the desolation in your wake, but running to them is a light that hurts your eyes, you may squint and hold up an arm, but at least you can see where each foot lands in your path, choice becomes clear. This or that way. No cul-de-sacs. No U-turns. Just sharp lefts and rights, because every direction but back, is straight ahead.
I tried.
No really,
I tried.
To avoid the truth
Run, or not run from you
Leaving black rose petals plucked in my wake
Sunshades
Tinting acknowledgement from suns rays
Instead of light I became, my son’s shade
Truth became gravity
Lies became hollow
Soil became regret
Not enough soil in my hollowed ground to feel the effects of my mess
Until gravity humbled me down to knees-now rooted, face soaking wet
The tears of a man blossoming to face his Black Rose flower beds.
Imagination – SuProsed2B-A-Con
“Imagination is more important than knowledge”- Einstein
To have boundless imagination I believe you too must have boundless hope. See, I have a great imagination but limited hope. My mom, she has enough hope for all of us and considering her life, that’s a miracle…but I’ve been free and seen people so bogged down by stress, hurt, and responsibility that hope and imagination become viewed as distorted illusions to which no one has time for, I was one of those people. But here in prison, people speak through imagination 24/7 which is passively coated with feverish unrealistic, unrelenting hope. I hear every talk and conversation in descriptive detail of what, how, who and where without the when, and it’s mostly from lifers or people doing 50 plus years, but they don’t let that taper their destination, let them tell it, they will be wearing this, going there, doing that, having her, eating everything, spending it all! Every magazine, TV show, or gossip is a shot at fantasy land and it helps them survive, stay strong and push forward. No one can live for us, so we create our own reality, why speak like you’re already dead? Real life shouldn’t be different, allow yourself imagination and hope. Moral? There’s pro’s to a con, imprisonment brings out insight from inside living that inside strife. It’s never too late to believe, actions are manifested thoughts. Hope hard, imagine hard, then, do believe and become so much more..it can only get greater when you add another aspect of living to life. Others are able to be encouraged by that high spirited optimism, just as I have been. It’s contagious, personify that boundless belief system instead of carrying that unbearable weight of doubt around. You can know so much but become dull with information that is unusable without an imagination to insert it within your life. Dare to escape into your mind from your mess and become more than now, never content, never contempt.