I admit, I still hurt inside
I still struggle with finding the source of where most of my pain derives
I still try to act like I got it all figured out, my most proud lie
They confuse something being wrong if I’m silent because I’m viewed as the loud type
I’m a convict, proud of my conquest, and all I’ve accomplished
fought my past, but it was no contest
can’t plead no contest
because I was viewed guilty far before I had to accept my guilty conscience
A failed father, my kids have never truly felt my love
One has never felt my hug, and the other doesn’t remember too much
A failed boyfriend, I don’t think I can ever truly settle down
No longer boyish, I respect women to a whole new level now
And value conversation more than the thought of dressing them down
Explaining that to a woman, hmm, how’d that sound?
I’m no misogynist
but I’m a man, so the sad part is that it isn’t so obvious
I know I can learn more from one woman than a group of men
but what woman would want life with a man that rather not be surrounded by a group of men
so many stereotypes I’ve been grouped in
getting a job was just as hard before my felony- I know too much now…I only wish I knew then
Trauma
I once contemplated suicide
I once contemplated suicide
I truly tried
even a beast knows beauty lies
so many times
I became unglued inside
like who am I?
looked in the mirror like, “who the fuck are u to decide?”
look to the skies
no, I’m too disguised
do or die
everytime
I lewd my mind, I loose my mind, I lose my mind!
broken mirror! broken bottle! broken man! broke inside!
I lost my life! I lost my sons! I lost my fight!
I.
felt.
like.
dyinggggggg, no lie
I.
felt.
like.
givingggggg up, no lie
but now
I.
think.
I.
feel.
some. thinggggg
my numbness comes and goes
I.
have.
feelingssss?
do. you. feel. me?
please don’t hang up no more
life. kept. calling. for me. to. stayyyyy
maybe. some. one. loves. me. still?
I can’t compare my pain
so I just share my pain
promise you won’t run away
if. I. show. my. face
am I ugly
am I worth it
do you hear me?
echoes are too loud
let go? I’m. too. proud.
I’m not
a.
lone.
please hurt with me, or help me hurt no more..
–Speak up, I’m no longer ashamed to say I felt like giving up, I felt like I couldn’t outrun my mistakes. I felt like love could never love me. I felt forgiveness was unreal, beauty could never be any part of me, and no matter how loud or quiet I spoke, I could never be heard or understood. But then I found..that I wasn’t alone. Speak up, speak out, speak loud, and someone will hear you, we are more similar in our pain, fears and struggles. If you hide, then how can you be found and helped?..believe you are worth the help. I feel you. Don’t give up, because you have more to give, we just lose sight sometimes.
Pro se Con-tints: Justice Cold, Just Ice Cold
There are answers we don’t understand, so it’s encumbant we try to search for them, not just assume the void of a reason understand is good enough to not trek in order to concoct your own safe assumption. Learning doesn’t stop once you’ve grown from adolescence. I was sentenced by a judge that never looked me in the eye and his last words were “… because you are so smart I’m giving you this much time…” I’ll leave you to your own philosophy what he meant, and how a punishment with those words can never be given fairly as opposed to being so stupid or ignorant, would I have gotten more or less? And then before the parole board dismissed me, a man asked me what schools I went to and the education tests I took upon coming to prison. I maxed every subject, so how can someone so smart have this..and he turned the screen showing my misconduct history my first four years, not caring that I have been write up free this past year and more. So I guess he’s saying I should be smart enough to shut up and be docile? Or there’s a problem with me and not the system because intelligence mixed with unfavored behavior doesn’t make sense in his world, prison has no room for intellect! Hmm, riots, institutional racism, emotional trauma, gang violence, loneliness, prison life in general and racial divides, the threat of danger, and the loss of friends/family must play no role at all! Then he finishes his statement telling me that I am so smart that I can actually help people do their time, I have enough time left to really make a difference, but the fact that that’s been my mission which he never got to fully comprehend because I wasn’t heard nor allotted efficient time to speak because of their hectic schedule and if I’m being honest-what also seemed to be a lack of care, he went on to advise me of what I’ve taken on day in and day out but in his mind I can help my cons within the two years they rather I wait. Hypocrisy or ignorance? Had he not asked, I’d have been dismissed within 90 seconds..they didn’t even know I finished a program they favor and recommended, and I quote, “Oh!” (check mark). Oh! You gotta love it!
Pro se Con-tints: Hate to see you go..
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.
Those Four Letters Spelled…
Why did I beat you down with my words
with my swears and every curse
and every course
we traversed
until your curls, turned coarse
of course-
you’ve seen my worst
you’ve been the words
that I’d disperse
thwarting my hurt
I loved you first
I loved you for
your form and force
I hate you for
the roads you forked
my hearts a fort
It’s not your fault
You’ve broke my falls
I made you fall
I named your flaws
you gave your all
you gave me cause
I gave you scars
you answered calls
wrote me letters
hoped for better
to hold together
betrayal, I betrayed you
because I’m frail
despite my portrayal
my shell is hell
I’m sorry I failed
those 4 letters spelled ….
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.