She doesn't need to feel
the weight of poems
on her already weakened body.

I want to give her space
so she doesn't feel smothered.

She makes a bad, bad prisoner.
I know that.
Yet I can't help
but dream of prisons
where it's just me and her.

Trapped in my mind
A prison I can't escape
Unable to move
Can't speak
I see it and hear it all
But unable to respond
I see your tears as you cry
I hear your prayers at my bedside
But I am trapped in my mind
A prison I can't escape

The day of my release
I walked the streets
Seeing the sky and the grass under my feet
It was weird, I was free
But not free from my memories-
They flee,

The people I once knew,
Can't look me in the eye
They know what I did,
But so do I, because everyday I relive-
All the things that haunt me

Every day's a clock, with no hands
Each minute strikes the soul like a match
How am I supposed to relive-
Relearn to live

The cars and the people
The dog on the corner,
He barks like crazy
But nothing will be as crazy as the thought
Maybe I want to go back to-
What was once my living doom

I was told to get a job
But right now crossing the street-
Feels like my head will pop
All the honks and the shouts
Who knew the world could be so loud

In confinement it was quiet
Because a noise too loud,
Could trigger a guard,
Beating us until,
the lights went out-

Showers and meals were on a schedule,
Now I have to decide for myself
And still I manage
I cross the street-
Not trying to vanish-
In my internal defeat.

I crave the change I also dread,
It dances loud inside my head
For when you’ve lived in chains so long,
They start to feel like where you belong

They bind me tight, they hold me still,
They crush my voice, they break my will,
But in their grip, I’ve come to stay,
And fear the world without their sway

What would I do, if I were free?
No walls, no locks, no weight on me?
This place, though cold, I’ve come to know,
It shaped my steps, it taught me “no.”

My dreams keep whispering through the dark,
But even dreams have lost their spark
For even there, I fear the cost,
Afraid to find what I have lost

I long for joy, yet flinch from light,
I watch it glowing, clear and bright,
But I’ve lived so long in shadow’s arms,
The sun, to me, might do me harm

How can I walk with eyes so gray,
Into a gold and blinding day?
Without the chains to pull me back,
What compass guides the open track?

What rules exist when none remain?
What shape is joy that’s born from pain?
And so I stay, both near and far,
A prisoner who guards their own bar

How do you sit down and talk to your sister
and tell her that her Daddy has gone?
It's easier explaining the meaning of death
and why people die and draw their last breath.

But Daddy, he's gone to no peaceful heaven.
Instead he's in prison and serving a seven,
so how do you sit down and tell your own sister
the whys and the reasons her Daddy has gone?

"Listen, sis, you'll need to be strong.
Daddy has done something terribly wrong.
He's gone into prison for quite a long time,
and this is what happens when you commit crime."

"Daddy still loves us, he'll phone and he'll write,
ring you to wish you goodnight and sleep tight.
We can sit down together and write him a letter.
It'll make Daddy smile and make him feel better."

I tried telling my sister with emotional tact
the truth of the matter, but you can't hide the fact.
Her Daddy has gone and has gone for a while.
You can't say it with flowers or manage a smile.

So how do you sit down and talk to your sister
and answer her questions why Daddy has gone?
All you can do is just tell him your way
and pray to the Lord he'll be home soon one day.

I've become convinced that love ends in pain.

Maybe not in eternity, but in this life, I believe that's true. Love in this life has an end already written. And it hurts. Giving into love is like locking yourself in a prison, knowing that a lethal injection is the only way out. I used to think that didn't matter to me... "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Well my defense mechanisms are screaming the opposite. They're making the part of love that's supposed to be sweet have a bitter aftertaste. I thought I would choose love, even knowing the end. Now love's been presented to me so nicely, but my guts are in a knot and that lethal injection is haunting me. How do you defy every self-preservation bone in your body for love?

To make it even more difficult, I don't see anyone else struggling with this decision. Other people just embrace the lethal injection without a second thought. They're okay with the trade. They don't even care if a key to the prison exists cause they would never so much as think about taking it. Love is worth it to them...

Why isn't it to me?

What made my defense mechanisms so heightened that I can't deny them for something I want. For something that would be really good... Maybe a key doesn't exist. But my mind found another solution: don't go into the prison. Just avoid the whole thing to begin with. So here I am, stuck in the middle. In what feels like a perpetual struggle between my heart wanting something beautiful and good, but my brain being in fight-or-flight mode trying to protect me. It's exhausting. It's a lot easier just being alone... My life was still so full...
The "happily ever after" side of me wants to believe I'll choose love. But my brain is a realist. And it has a hard time believing I'll choose the prison...

weight.
that’s all I feel now.

the weight of silence.
absence.  
thoughts like boots
stuck in mud up to my knees.

thirteen thousand nights
pounding out of my chest like a riot mob
choking on my life
and staring down twenty thousand more.
****.

the searing void
of an ancient sugared kiss
sends tears down my face
like tiny iron weights—
a silent guillotine.
you’re so far away now.
or maybe I am.

dusting off dreams
like they’re old pictures
and setting them back on the shelf
in this violet desert.
mirage or memory?
who knows.

I’ve become a warm corpse
mumbling “no”
to the tired lives that want to ride me
like an old horse
one limp away from being glue.

who is there to tell?
who the hell would listen?
who’d step foot
onto the interstate of my heart
dodging semis
and roadkill potpourri?

doesn’t matter.
the dreams look clean again.
and that’s enough
to keep the lights on in the cell
for another thousand nights.

so keep that duster handy.
go back to sleep.

these nights are hungry.
and they’re not going to eat themselves.

you have found
red ink industries
it's what it is
racist
that word is where i
am not with you
whoever you are
your not out there
this world exists also
a world above
and able to come down on you
the reality of freedom
has terms
not conditions