Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow
Stuck in this prison
Tunnelin vision
Never stumble, stomach rumbles, and stomachin tension
Drama comes I’m unencumbered
No comforters, no comfortable livin
Survived disgruntled mumbles of Russell
His struggles and troubles consistent
The sun doesn’t visit
My sons don’t visit
No one comes to visit
Came undone for a minute
But I’ll be done in a minute, I’ll be done in a minute..
How can a man change
or not stay the same
When he can’t realize he is in a constant state of change
Adapting to a reality that forces him to stay the same
Numb his pain, number his name, become insane
All the while asking him-to-change.
No-stal-gi-a
I always loved the sound of the word
though I never took to it
I mean, I never had a past time of memorable things I clung to
Reminiscing was always in some form kind of painful
But this one day..
It boasted my favorite memories
I felt whole
No matter what foster home or group home I left
Just to be included on that day made me complete
Thanksgiving
The only day of the year I felt a part of my family
The day I looked forward to every year
To see my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandma and siblings
People who looked like me, shared my blood
Nothing fulfiled me more than seeing my family on Thanksgiving
It wasn’t the food though you know us black people can throw down
It was the family reunion, the day everyone seemed so happy to see me
Nostalgia to me is Thanksgiving
You took her for granted
Laid her face on your shirt-
The hardest thing for a man to do
Take blame for his hurt
The dumbest thing he ever did
Not putting her first-
The worst mistake he ever made
Not making it work
She took him for granted
Heard his heart race through his shirt
The hardest thing for a woman
Chasing relations and worth
The dumbest thing she ever did
Embracing the flirts
The worst mistake she ever made
Her actions not chained to her words
The paradox of chasing love
Is in the possibility of chasing more hurt
The pain of losing love
When we close our eyes, and still see the face of him or her
You took it for granted
I ask myself sometimes..
What is it about bad news that sometimes settles me
As if the culmination of let downs makes it unfathomable for me to endure something good
Or the audacity of savoring something great
The hope for it seems just as ridiculous
Is it the comfort of no further expectations within the flat line of bad news
Is it the good news always has the possibility of turning bad, as if I’m half across a high line tight rope
Why is my comfort in misery or self masochism more easily lived with
But my promise haunts me more than goodbyes?
Maybe that’s what it is, the goodbyes I expect
The ones to come and the ones that came
I’ve spent my whole life remembering
Slammed doors, dial tones and more backs than faces
So its hard now to face you and every promise that comes attached
So don’t believe in me, I’m just another case of bad news
Goodbye freedom, goodbye opportunities, goodbye love…
At least I said it first this time
Turn your back on me
Run away from me
Run to him
Run back to me
Turned my back to you-walk away from you
Ran into my room
Ran into your picture
I picked up the phone
“Can’t be alone”
You never slept
You stayed up waiting
“Misery Loves Company”