Intriging stories and TestimoniesHere is the compilation of all the writing entries from our incarcerated writers.
I don't do it without understanding the magnitude of what I am doing. Sharing the spiderweb is my greatest burden. I carry it forward because it is my duty to do so. On the surface, I am the orator. A conductor of sorts. Little do the people know, I have a grave...
When I give you the world don’t disappoint me…Find me where no pain will be; The birds sing in the morning.
Once upon a time…My reality speaks loud. Now I ponder on a good old time. The world observed, I only think of you.
STANDING IN WINTERS TEARSCOLD, FRIGID AND STUCKWATCHING MY BREATH ESCAPE IN BURST OF FOG WANTING TO MOVE BUT I CAN’T
LIFE IS – STANDING IN WINTERS RAIN
NAKED – WITH EVERYTHING TO HIDE
WATCHING A BREATH ESCADE
MY HEART BLACKENED- FROM BURNT SHRIVELED AND HARDENEDTO A PIECES OF UNENERGETIC COAL USELESS AND POINTLESS HMMM…
Do you see me now?
I’m a fraction of my words.
I speak with my pen, don’t think my circumstances degraded this; Because still I stand.
I thought I heard a rumbling. Then I thought of coming rain.
Never dreaming what could come of this, of pouring, drenching pain.
Kiss me as I descend unhinged into a dismal, abysmal, abyss, where the voices of the forgotten cry out.
“THERE IS NO BOTTOM.”
In rare silence, all the men in the dayroom turned their heads to what was happening in the center of the unit:"Can I get everyone's attention for a moment?" An inmate and a staff member moved to the front of the officer station. "I know we all understand how hard the...
I believe in art. I believe in the vast unexplored tracks of our creative potential; with a fistful of keys, unlocking those tracks one painting, one poem at a time. Sometimes I wonder how much my time in prison influenced my life as an artist. Did prison make me who...
When a person is convicted of a crime, greatness is the last thing on their mind. Freedom is what they are thinking about constantly.
Every Monday Matters By Paul Thorsteinson When an incarcerated person hears the term “self-analysis” falling from a soothsayer’s lips to clack against the concrete floor like a metal fifty cent piece dropped from clumsy fingers, we are already turning to pursue...
Weary Bones By Lawrence Edward Perdue Oh, how our weary bones are restless, but our heart still soars with pride. For whomever is afraid to live, has everything yet but died. Whether footprints we leave behind us, or the steps we’ve yet to take, one thing that shall...
Devotion is sustained and deep like the water in the sea.The wind cascades along the lands…As flowers blossom and dance for all of us to see.
What is a man? By definition, one could claim to be one if he met the age requirement. But by character, it is the reflection…
Confined with Covid-19 By Dushaan Gillum I laid down feeling fine Woke up feeling like I was dying My body felt like it was frying I spent my waking moments crying My whole body was aching I was not cold but I was shaking Waiting To have my temperature taken So they...
Without my body, you get to see my mind. Without me able to move I got to figure out who I am inside. I can’t kiss you the way I used to.
I am because I am alive
I am because I have suffered and still survive
I am because I see the light
I am because I am one with mankind’s plight.
Growing up so fast, childhood obsolete.
Hitting Vegas streets putting miles on my feet.