Novel & Cerita Poems Of Prison

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!”

I was being integrated. And integration was another kind of prison.

CH 75 Sophia’s Shadow POV: Sophia Night inside the prison always felt heavier than the day. The cold concrete walls seemed to absorb every sound, leaving the corridors wrapped in a strange silence broken only by distant footsteps and the occasional metallic clang of doors locking for the night. Sophia sat on the narrow bed inside her cell, her back resting comfortably against the rough wall. A faint light from the hallway filtered through the iron bars, casting long shadows across the small room. To anyone observing her, she would appear like any other inmate—quiet, contained, and seemingly resigned to her fate.

The cover is worn and the leather is pealing off. I open it. Each page is all crinkled as if it's been used a lot. I look through the book. Poems? Each poem is so meaningful. Did she write this? INNER DEMONS: It's like a shadow in an eternal night It does not let you free it does not let you live in the light It takes you deeper into an endless tunnel It ensnares you with chains It pumps it's venom into your vains The darkness does not let it's prey go easily

The prison was a hell of concrete and screams. I had already been there for two months, but I still hadn’t gotten used to the noise. The inmates screamed at each other all the time — over food, over territory, over nothing. The smell of cheap disinfectant mixed with sweat and desperation, and the fluorescent lights never fully went out, even at night.

"This is the room for you," Melvin said, opening the door to the room he was referring to. "T-this-" Uhuk! Uhuk! Danas coughed, shaking his hands to keep the dust from making him cough. The room was dusty and dirty, and many unused items were there. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the room before him. She never even thought that he would tell her to stay in a room that was not worthy of being called a room. A sense of claustrophobia, helplessness, and suffering came over her. Danas's rough breathing could be heard.

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.