I wish I could leave it all, the misunderstanding of me, of who I am, I wish I could close my eyes and be spirited away into foreign lands. I’m the skeletal fragment of myself looking at my skin hang amidst the dimming stars of a cosmic swirl of gravitational pulls. I am a problem, a thing that has caused much turmoil in the life of another.
Send him back to prison she says.
Yes I am my own problem, my own worst critic. You aren’t a felon so you wouldn’t clearly understand what it means to be thumb tacked to the bottom of someone else’s finger. If you’re a felon then you know where I cone from. Everyone and their uncle believes it’s so easy to do this and that while on parole, well it isn’t when you have the violations I have, when you have the criminal history I must die with.
I want to blend in with the wind and give it the quiet end.
At times all I want to do is look up to have a conversation with a headstone. I cry when those around me think I’m happy, I cry when those around me laugh, I cry when those around me smile. Life is hard, a felons life is harder.
A Sad Story:
It hurts to laugh, it kills me to smile, looking in the mirror I don’t see me, I see the being that should cease to exist. It does not make me proud of the fact I nearly took a life, a complete stranger. I am happy to say he lived and is doing well. Parole on the other hand makes it hard. To those who assume I make it hard on me I sadly shake my head for your blindness. Prison has changed me much like any extreme environment will change a person, it has made me more afraid, it has made the word trust non existent.
If I could I’d fly into the darkest parts of the cosmos and not look back. I’d find the most remote road and walk, walk with the sun to my back and the moon on my face. I am wrong for what I think and how I approach obstacles, I guess I’ll hide behind a full moon to not be so wrong. If I could hide away from the world… if only I could walk away.
By Isaac Gathings 2017