by Prison Story Project | May 18, 2018 | Writing
When my mother hated me, she’d call the whole family And tell them what I had done this time. She’d call my in-laws and tell them not to let me See my kids. When my mother hated me, she’d disappear. I would walk the streets and knock on every door....
by Prison Story Project | May 18, 2018 | Writing
In the middle of nowhere The river runs through the deep woods The grass is greener than I have ever seen A pond in the middle of five acres Where the horses and dogs drink together Chickens run free in the yard in front of A four bedroom, white house with a large...
by Prison Story Project | May 18, 2018 | Writing
Concrete walls, Concrete floors, Frosted plastic window panels. Half a picnic table against the wall. These walls are white, but if you step into the halls There’s more scenery than you could imagine. At one end of the concrete hall there is a calendar painted....
by Prison Story Project | Apr 15, 2015 | Writing
What does love heal? Love heals the broken-hearted. Love heals the ones that don’t want to live. Love heals broken promises and bad memories. Love heals the ones who have cuts on their wrists. Love heals the ones who take pills to feel happy. Love heals the ones...
by Prison Story Project | Jul 18, 2014 | Writing
If I walk up the street, back from Kum-n-Go to get an Icee with Mountain Dew & cherry mixed, I can see all the getter bug traffic buzzing in the backyard. I decide to make the block, strolling ever-so-casually so as not to attract the police and the Black knights...
by Prison Story Project | Jul 14, 2014 | Writing
I didn’t know I loved the birds soaring through the sky. I didn’t know I loved the smell of the rain or fresh cut grass. I didn’t know I loved the way my mom looks at me or the smell of her perfume. I know I can’t turn back the clock, but I...
