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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Trauma

Off the wagon again

April 3, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Off the wagon again
I took a shot of pride, then cracked it over the head of a shadow
then yelled, “why are you so shallow?!”
I admit, I have insecurities, I’m still fragile
when it comes to my past, I’m fast to act as if I’m ready for battle!
Til I see the shattered glass and realize it reflects Me! Broken and hollow
my mouth open I swallow
Gulps of dry air down a strep throat past swollen tonsils
My trachea achin, I need a chaser, there’s no mistaking it I’m allergic to swallowing pride
Runnin from truth, following lies
Fancy myself a leader yet I’m following lines
That lead me straight to troubled abdominal signs
Bad gut feelings…and that moment I wretch
That same moment you sketch, a picture of my regrets
Same moment I’m stretched, sprawled out in my mess
Bile clings to my flesh…I’m anyone’s guess
This how I deal with my stress, paradox, I’m simply-complex
Death is a promise…life is a threat

Filed Under: Spirit, Trauma

I-O-U-A-Y

April 3, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I tear apart your words so I can read through your letters better
my favorite excuse inside every envelope, enclosed are the wrongs I write..PS You and I forever
we both thrive of honesty, my vow in every vow and consonant
like, I-O-U-A..Y
I keep tearing at your confidence
maybe afraid that you’ll leave, my opinion is you downgraded
maybe I feel filthy laced with guilt from all of the women to which I found favor
none worth a second thought, you fill me with second thoughts
second guessing every moment, I can’t make up for the seconds lost
how can I adorn silver and gold, thought I cut at the surface of a diamond
the paradox of burying our love, yet value is found from mining
my disposition towards you is that of material possession
though I handle you with less care than a brand new watch and necklace
I try to cover you up so you won’t be seen by opportunity
but I fear you already hide in plain sight and I’m blinded by my insecurities…

Filed Under: Inside, Love, Trauma

I Opened the Door to Misery

April 3, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I opened the door to misery
inhaling the aroma of a different intimate chemistry
Incremental shifts of synergy individually renders me mentally weak!
A sinister invisible energy creeps!…
Within the darkest crevices of my neurons
that splinters then surrenders my memory to obscenities and beyond!
Reminiscing the scene of her screamin
Incoherent, I ran to the vicinity to discover the reason
what I saw literally uncoiled my double helix
My identity compromised by feelings enhanced by treason
at that moment I!…
and that’s all I remember officer, why would I lie?…

Filed Under: Inside, Spirit, Trauma

Chemistry

April 3, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I thought I was over you
yet again I lied to myself
and let you get the best of me-
I grabbed you quick
helpless in my grip
as I squeeze you by the neck recklessly-
I was numb to how you might feel
my eyes blazed in that moment
dilated with impulse-
so consumed in anguish
I drank every bit of your being
a cold rush down my throat-
instant gratification every time
I lift you up and throw you down
my favorite color brown-
I willingly drown in you, message in a bottle
the taste of sweet misery..
but I love our chemistry-

Filed Under: Inside, Love, Trauma

Holding onto my sanity

April 3, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I’m holding onto my sanity like a flying trapeze
sometimes I lose grip with reality, shy, I’m trying to grieve
Living feels so suffocating, it’s like I’m dying to breathe
I can’t tell a dream from a nightmare, but feel more alive while I sleep
drifting to the soothing sounds of a hooting owl, that’s inside of a tree
my window stays cracked open, because inside I feel outside of what’s free
these moments…I close my eyes and vibe with the breeze
though, lonely it seems, when I spend the bulk of those nights on my knees
the thunder is calling, lightning igniting the skies
the air, thick with moisture, serenated by the whistling wind chimes
a nocturnal ambiance, likened to the lightest dark
a universal mood set, morbid-like romanticism, the theme of my dying heart
…I pray my shadow never leaves me, my instinct never wilts
my 6th sense never haunts me, my self-esteem never spills
my heart never tricked, my conscience never lies
my voice never hoarse, my eyes never cry
my knees never quake, my shoulders never fold
my temper never simmers, my skin never cold
my sons forever love, their minds never tainted
they see life as art, and thrive within their parts in the painting (goodbye)

Filed Under: Inside, Spirit, Trauma

Hemmed in Him

March 23, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Bend over and accept him

sometimes quicker than desired,

compliment his manhood, tell him work ethic is good

beautiful liar,

His pride is the responsibility of your heart

don’t let him down,

He’s more fragile than testosterone will allow him to admit

he’s gender bound,

Cook for him, act like you love it;

Replace his beer and endure his quips as you bend over by the oven;

Act pleased, when he grabs your ass unexpectedly, though sometimes you rather he not touch it;

But you know he loves it

so you play good wife at home and in public

When did love turn choirs, compliance, & obligations? but he’s your husband

Damn…the reality of a woman, is so numbing

In a man’s world, a woman’s value outside of her love and body that we hover, trying to discover, what she covers,

because it’s all we covet…is nothing

Filed Under: Culture, Trauma

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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.

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