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vic Mar 3
I wonder if the handcuffs were hereditary
If we were fed through those chainlink umbilical cords
Cut free and raised in disguised prison wards
I think our birth certificates may have been the first warrants for our arrest.
“Prison” was never a ***** word growing up
It was tossed around in potato salads
Mixed into our cole slaws
And served to us like pecan pie
“Prison” was not a ***** word
It was just a place that family members ended up
A Motel 6 specifically designed for Randolphs
But then middle school started
I was told that prison was for bad people
I refused to believe that it was for bad people
That my family shared rooms with criminals
Talked with murderers and thieves over a metal dinner table
That they were bad people.
How are you supposed to feel when you’re told that your DNA is bad people?
What are the charges against my biology?
What crimes have my genetics committed against the court?
Why are their laws written down in my ancestors' blood?
I suppose prisons are for bad people
But I don’t think you’re a bad person.
I wish I could just believe you’re a bad person
Since you’ve missed every warrant for communication
Every request for appearance to the important dates of my life
And I still want to pardon you from all charges
Because you’re my big brother.
I don’t think you’re a bad person
It’s easier to think that the handcuffs were hereditary
Than to believe that you ended up here on your own accord
And I wish this was your first time
But this isn’t my first time crying your name into a cinderblock wall
Begging for the release of my bubba
You always laughed when I called you bubba
Said that I had a way with words yet I still couldn’t pronounce “big brother”
I wish we got to know each other better
We were separated through a cascade of different fathers and custody cases
Names inked into legal paper before I even knew how to write it myself
I haven’t talked to you in over a year now
The only recent photos I have of you were taken at a police station
But you only got arrested a month ago
I can’t excuse the other eleven
What’s your excuse from running from family?
From the only sibling, you have left?
These handcuffs are hereditary
And every time they rubbed against your wrists, mine burn
Every time they say your name in a court setting
I hear it slamming into the sides of my skull
Every time they shut the bars of your cell
I am barred from another part of my soul
And I wonder if my name even passes through your thoughts
Cause when we mourned for our lost sister together
You said it was us against the world
So what’s the reason why you never returned my calls?
You said we were the only family that we had left
But as children of parents who didn’t care for them
The word “family” didn’t exactly hold much importance
We spent decades masquerading ourselves in the backgrounds of other people’s family photos
Trying to pretend like we weren’t secondhand children
We weren’t lost souls
Yet when they recounted their old memories
We could never fit ourselves into their homes
I relied on you to keep out of trouble
And raise your kids better than Mom ever raised us
But my nieces and nephews are still shallowing down the word prison like it’s Tylenol
You said I was the only family you could trust
The way you’ve treated me and your kids show me what I should’ve known all along
Whereas I had a way with your words
You never understood their meaning
Preferred silent smiles and passive-aggressive grunts towards showing emotion
You don’t know what family means
And I wonder if you can even feel my pain
Yes, these handcuffs are hereditary
And I feel your felonies burn in my veins
Causing avalanches in despair to cover my brain
Because what you don’t realize is as the youngest sibling
I inherited everyone’s pain.
Even your's.
Star BG Feb 17
There is a higher rate of prayer in war zones
because a peaceful society takes things for granted.

There is a higher rate of second guessing in jail
because there is plenty of time to think.

There is a higher rate of dreams inside dark days
because that houses a creative spark of creation.
Inspired by Johnny Noir Thank you
Rain Feb 17
It’s a city from the outside,
Shining on a hill
But from the inside looking out
It’s just another jail
It sometimes feels like the city walls are pressing in, suffocating me, but I can’t leave, at least not yet. Soon, though, I’ll be leaving; soon... I just have to remember to breathe long enough to get there.
I have a sentence to life
And the warden is Death.
Peter Balkus Feb 5
Reality is like a high-security prison -
so hard to escape from.
Even if I sometimes do,
not long my freedom lasts -
the guards follow me
and chase me down.
They put me back to my cell and say:

You want to break free? No chance.
Stop dreaming, you fool.
Dreams don't come true.
Forget about it. Okay?


I say: Okay...

But I don't give up,
I secretly try to find the way.
I know one day, sooner or later,
alive or dead,
I'll make the great escape.
Levi Jan 29
11 comes 12, then 1 for a new rotation
a fresh start too close to previous victory
"This is what you're made for !
Only you predict the sun"
yet here is the heresy

the sun will only be measured
as a cup is filled to brim
and when each value is tested and weighed
small gold surpasses tin

so when a watch serves its one purpose
who determines its value?
Prisoners can serve one purpose
as leaders do the same

What makes them separate?
What dictates gain?
Condemnation without future reconciliation is too much for humans to bear. I think we’re designed for more than this
IncholPoem Jan 17
My  led
sprained
suddenly.



Doctor  came
but  could  not
cure  that.



My  eyes  became
sprained  by
my  hand

while   reading   the
  blogs  on  computer.


My stomach  became
sprained  by
hungriness  after
releasing  from
jail.
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