Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Heidi Franke Feb 5
Today my son
Is to be sentenced
To prison. He
Lives 23 hours a day
In a jail cell, he will move on
Steeling courage few of us
Ever have to experience.
Consider your luck.
His mental illness
never to be a crime.
Will there be light for a prism?
Where he can turn to
Other pathways
Less dark and Forge
Himself into the open
Blue sky and all the rainbows
From here on out.
On the outside we are blind
On the inside some
Are given true sight.
I cry for a rotten system
In mental health care
We own. You might
Want to pull up some buckets
For all mothers tears
Knowing the best we have
Is incarceration. How is that
America? Tired of blaming anyone but yourself?
A son is to be sentenced this Monday morning. Prison transfer on Wednesday.
Ginn Mosxa Feb 3
Are you toxic or broken
Misunderstood or clearly spoken
Are you fragile, reckless or both
...Is there still hope?
I know I can't save you
Can't bail you out
I can't carry you a single step of the way
But can I perhaps
Support the change?
Can I be present for you
Can I show you grace
Could I perhaps just
See again, your smiling face?
If I stopped here, and waited a while
Would that be okay
Could you understand
My need to keep you at bay
Because I love you, I do
But I'm so afraid
To be hurt again
I'm scared to know you
But that's all I want, too.
For Chelsi
Heidi Franke Feb 2
He was in his cell
Twenty three hours a day
Never was he an animal
Yet treated as such

The echoes off the walls, bounce
The metal doors that clang, bang
Endless boredom after
All the books are read
He paces his eight feet

Gray dulls the senses
Lack of color, lack of life
He saw a bug inside
The other day, alive
Looking up at him
Another form of life, different,almost brand new
His voice filled with hope through the Pauses

It rained and the summer was hot
They were released for the hour
Choices that are made in that precious time
He went outside where there is only the cement
Laid on his back, spread his arms like an eagle, like an offering
Letting the rain Fall onto him,
just so He could feel Something
Sharing the experiences between a mother and son. The son is incacerated. Too many non violent people are imprisoned for far too long.
Riley Larkin Apr 2023
Tonight I will
Enjoy my bed
While you lay in yours
I wonder if you regret it all
After the first night when guards closed the doors
When you were on the inside
With absolutely nothing you could do
I still can’t believe the time has come
Punishment for the destruction that comes with you
I never thought it’d be real
You understanding what it feels like
To be a powerless prisoner
Giving everything you got- to still lose the fight

Do you lose sleep over me
Putting you where you belong
Do the voices in your head still tell you I’m in the wrong?

I wonder how many months
It will take to break your spirit

All you have is your thoughts
How many memories till you hear it

The muffled screams, my terrified eyes
Or are your memories filled with stories saying I’m the bad guy

Blaming your true colors on account of being high
While you looked down at me on the floor, beating me just enough not to die

Are you angry with me because I got away?

If you could see me tomorrow do you know what you would say?
I think you would walk right past me
Without even a look
Making me feel like I was nothing
It’s the biggest play from your book

I think about this often
If I had the chance, what would I say
I forgive you for making the biggest mistake of your life
Knowing I’m the one that got away
Thomas W Case Apr 2023
You can hear them scream at night,
the men, locked in,
over at the hate factory.

It's a kind of purgatory.
A winter time
for the mind.

No light gets in.
No love either.
But you can see it all below
through the bars
on the window.
Thomas W Case Feb 2023
I sit here in
county jail sporting the
orange jumpsuit and I
write more poems and  
memoirs in a week than
I’ve written in a year.
It feels ******* when
I’m pounding out the
word and the line.

When you’re homeless and
the temperature is minus ten,
jail isn’t a punishment,
it’s a reward.
I got busted for public intox two days in
a row, and again three
weeks ago.
The state remembered—they
recommended 30 days,
the judge gave me two weeks.

Every time I go to jail
I’m very drunk,
and by morning I’m
coming down hard.
I remind the guards of
my predicament—the danger of
withdrawal seizures.
They say, “We are aware of
your condition, Mr. Case.”
And within a couple of
I’m on Librium,
making detox bearable.

Within a couple of days the
drunken haze dissipated
and the need to create returned.
I got their tiny safe
pen (impossible to stab someone with),
and I went to work.
I looked out my little
window in my cell and I
saw a male bald eagle gliding
lazily over downtown.
I felt as free as he was.
Thomas W Case Nov 2021
Three burly sheriffs showed
up at my neighbors
house yesterday.
Scowls on scarred faces.
Tattered lives, tarnished
Five minutes later,
they were walking my
friend out in handcuffs.
He shuffled, head down.
Autumn frowned and the
leaves scuttled away in

Today, the vultures swooped
in, picked the bones of all
his earthly possessions that
littered what was once his
front lawn.
Jackals, and hideous
hyena faced men and
women took the last of
his things.  

Even though he was
arrested, he still
and although they are
free, they die more
daily in their own
private evictions.
I've seen more
humanity at a

check out my youtube channel
Thomas W Case Aug 2021
I passed out on
some apartment
steps downtown.
Too much beer and
****** the night before.
two cops wake me,
and take me to jail.
when I got out the
next day,
they gave me my
clothes and property.
I had two ****** left,
and ate them while
changing out of the
tangerine colored jumpsuit.
I stepped into the
bright sunlight,
slipped on my ray-Bans,
nowhere to go.
Next page