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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Trauma

Son Symbolize

January 15, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

In here, every day I am Sunzu
Every day is a Sunday
Because every day is my son’s day
Every day I’m missing my sons’ rise
So every day I’m on a mission to vision the sunrise
Every day my tears end up sun-dried
Every day I can’t wait to see the sun outside
Symbolize, every day I’m in wait of seeing my sons outside
Today, there was no sun outside
And so I ate eggs, though I don’t like them, at least they were sunny side

Filed Under: Love, Spirit, Trauma

They only see

January 15, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Numb, because all I know is hurt
They only see the dirt
Not what arose and bloomed
Soaked through from an open wound
Felt closed in a tomb, with the aroma of dew
I was so consumed, by the notions you-
Chose to focus through, what else was I supposed to do?
Options choked and bruised, comatose provoked and used
With a hopeless view, through a window that broke into-
Two pieces, atoned and doomed
If u ever pick up the phone, what tone would you use?
Would you forgive my wrongs and see a stronger dude?
Or would you just leave me alone and let the tone, click, through..?

Filed Under: Inside, Trauma

Jaded

January 13, 2018 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I’ll probably jade you and break you
Because I’m a mistake and I shouldn’t take you-
Out on a date, because love is high stakes
I may order steak, but I’ll have my stake
Ignorant of your cleavage, peering right through your breast plate
The only way to cause vampires heartbreaks,
I don’t like vampires, love is a vampire
so many demands I,
I’m sorry my hands tied, I’m sorry I’m anti
Spoon and a candlelight, daydream and romanticize
My heart has been vandalized,
You may have the cure for it, or you maybe too pure for it
I want you to love me and hate me, but hate that you love me and I’ll love you way more for it,
Yet scared of what I may have to endure for it
Love ain’t a sure thing, I’m never too sure for it
It causes that stabbed in the back pain, with no epidural for it
I’ll probably jade you

Filed Under: Love, Trauma

Persevere

December 4, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

..persevere

I formulate it like an idea

I built it up like Ikea

now I’m feelin like a pioneer

I been thru it like riot gear..

Hell yea I had fights here

Hell yea I had fright in here

Hell yea people died in here

Hell yea long nights in here

damn..

I seen dudes burnt alive

I seen dudes stabbed to death

I seen dudes mutilated

something you witness catch your breath

I was called out to the shower, I was koo, it was one on one

I faced it all, I can never run

two more came, I aint hear them come

I hit the ground, saw a blade, and all I thought about was my sons

what I haven’t said to my loved ones

I wont lie here as my blood runs

I went numb

then I went dumb!

survival instincts started hittin home

they won’t stop me from gettin home

I was facin death alone

but I kept swingin til I broke my bones

it got hard to manage breath

adrenaline peaked, no panic left

one man had left

but one hand left..

it can always get worse here

this is hell but there’s church here

I swear reality hurts here

and you’ll never know when it will hit you but you always have to persevere

Filed Under: Inside, Mercy, Trauma

Dry Ice

December 4, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I can’t wait, until these tears dry
I can’t wait…until this tear dries
The last gift, to which, I can remember you by
The scars on my heart, I can remember you by
A glimpse of our stint, hmm, December, July
Hot and cold, seasonal love only delivers you lies
I try to close my eyes so you don’t enter my mind
Then the moment you arrive, my temperature rise
Perplexing your effect..you are composed of ice
Perplexed by your effect..your composure is ice
I, can’t wait until this tear dries
I can’t wait! But now this tear is ice

 

Filed Under: Inside, Love, Trauma

Addict

December 4, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Chain smoke, binge drink
Pop pills, narcoma…
Inhaled lines, euphoria!
Crazy thoughts..scared of needles
Exhale leaves, picture perfect..no worries
Coming down, sick of life
Drink syrup..light darkens
Lucid dreams-echoed vibrations
Mirror-mirror on a caved in wall
I look down standing on a pile of broken glass
Asleep on a bed of needles, don’t wake me
I’m still broken, I may never feel whole again!
And then,
That love, real love, her love..
Pure! Inhale…
Exhale!
Intoxicating
New Drug, Love
Addicted!

 

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Love, 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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  • Whose Mind is it Anyway June 30, 2022
  • Objects June 30, 2022
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  • Optical Ill-lusions June 30, 2022
  • Hollow Symbols June 30, 2022

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