Poems Of Prison Novels & Stories

I tried to win them over but all I said fell on deaf ears as they pushed me into the van and drove off. My eyes welled up as I shut my eyes. God knew I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I was only trying to save my son. Why couldn't anyone understand that? ☆ ☆ ☆ The creaking of the iron bars irritated me as I laid on the cold prison floor — the nauseating smell of the watery beans the officer had dropped for me not helping issues in any way. I still wondered who it was that prepared the meals at the prison yard. Perhaps, he or she didn't taste the meal before dishing it out for people to eat. There was no other explanation for this poison of a food.

I flash back to my side of the cell against the bars as I chuckle while he screams and tears flood down his cheeks. "Well that was satisfying" I say after he quiets down. "I'll be back to see you later. Next time you want to try to make demands of me, just remember the beautiful gift of your right hand that I have bestowed you with. I don't honor every prisoner with my poetry" I say in my friendliest tone as I disappear into the ether.

"He likes listening to you read. There's a difference." "I think anyone would like reading if they had you all cuddled and pressed up against them." Levi added with a smirk. Unable to think of a good comeback, she just stuck her tongue out at them and put her focus back on her book while they laughed. The prison only had a small selection of books but surprisingly, many of them were romance or comedy and a few were philosophical. When she asked about it, she was told they weren't allowed to be exposed to anything violent. They didn't want to 'provoke' prisoners, which was very understandable.

------------------------------- Lorenzo The taste of dust never leaves your tongue in a place like this. They keep the lights dimmed just enough so the cameras catch shadows. Not faces. Not expressions. Just movement. Just traces. Like ghosts making decisions. But I don’t make decisions anymore. I write endings. They think I’m buried. That the steel and cement of this secret prison have severed me from the world. That the queen and her king sleep safely behind bulletproof windows and nursery songs. Idiots. You can’t cage something that never needed a door. Because I’m already in.

How could her brother be so cruel and push her out of the house just after she had gotten home from jail? She now hated crowds and gatherings like this so much because every day in that prison yard felt like a big sad and lifeless party she was forced to partake in. There were no foods, jesting, dancing, or laughing; only brutal fights and bullying, which she managed to so very much escape every time.

And the world bowed. My mother approached slowly. Placed her palm to my massive skull. “My daughter,” she whispered. I lowered my head to her. Tears spilled from my wolf eyes. *I am not broken.* *I never was.* Power thrummed in my bones. Not borrowed. Not stolen. Mine. I lifted my head and howled. The sound cracked the night in two. And the thunderstorm answered. …..***WRITERS POV***..... I turned twenty-two in a prison cell. No candles.

Vera led me deeper into the compound where the prisoners were kept and with every step I could feel them before I saw them, could feel their hopelessness pressing against my shields like physical weight, could feel decades of broken dreams and shattered spirits concentrated in this one place until it was almost too much to bear. "They've given up." Vera's voice was matter-of-fact. "Most of them have been here over a year. Some over five. At some point you stop hoping for rescue and start hoping for death instead."

“Wayne, I was wrong! I’ll never lie to you again. I can’t lose my legs! “I’m sorry! I’ll apologize to you and to Jocelyn. Fine, I’ll give the house back to her. Please, let me go! I’ll leave the country immediately and behave myself. I won’t embarrass myself in front of you again! “Wayne, please let me go. I…” The truck drew closer and closer. Her pleas were swallowed by the deafening roar as black tires crushed down on her legs. All that remained were screams that tore through the sky. “Ahh! My legs! My legs!”

How can she capture everything I feel in just one song? When I neared the glow, it led me to a prison. There, sat a woman with her eyes closed, lying down on the ground. Her wrists and ankles were locked by chains against the wall with only a plate of rotten food and a bowl of what seemed to be rainwater dripping from the ceiling. As I couldn't contain my anger, I rushed through the metal bars and shook them as hard as I could. "Who... goes... there..?" she whispered inaudibly.

They hung loose now—body leaner, harder from prison slop and endless push-ups in the yard. My shit came in a little box. Old photo of Mom back when she still knew how to smile. Cheap necklace they somehow didn’t snatch. Beat-up notebook stuffed with my angry plans and poems I scratched out just to keep from losing my damn mind. I signed the papers, my hand shook a little. Pen scratched rough across the page like it was carving my way out. After that, they patted me down one last time, making sure I wasn’t sneaking out any contraband.