This awful realization of mine sprang up from a nightmare–the details of which I will never forget. In the dream, I was a man living in a prison cell. It was a typical 9×12 with a concrete block for a bed, a cheap pillow, and a thin mattress. A stone slab protruding from the wall (my “desk”).

You can always tell when the woodshop begins its operations for the day. For one, there is always that distinct sound of the motor turning over and activating the air filtration system, bringing the woodshop to life. Secondly, about the same time there is an unmistakable troop of about 90 inmates spilling out of the buildings at the Nottoway Correctional Center

It is hard to pinpoint exactly how things went wrong. Perhaps it had something to do with the choices I made. Or maybe there were some contributing factors that ultimately led to the position that I am currently in, but that is nothing short of conjecture.

There is no point to be coy about it. The fact of the matter it is impossible to grasp the struggles that today’s prisoner faces, unless of course you were to walk a mile or two in his or her shoes, which I truly pray never happens to you.

hat makes people who they are? And if you look into the depth of someone’s character, what would you see. More importantly, what would you need to see in order to know who they really are?

I am a teacher and I had a class to teach this afternoon. It’s not my class, but I was invited by Billy Never-Never. A name is familiar to people who been around for a while.

Reminding me that some things are unspeakable, like deep in the ocean.
My pain is unspoken…but intentions are seen.

Every month emotions are administered by a woman’s fountain. Bleeding the sentiment averted, replaced by pain. But a woman’s worth…

Beauty in my visions accommodating within. Credence in my thoughts of where to begin. Accepting the fact emotions escaped.

I woke this morning with beauty impregnating my mind; An image of truth. Awakening from a dream of which I transcended.

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
HARSH……..COLD………PAIN.

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.”