Trapped in a capsule unable to breathe,
My mind grapples with thoughts beyond years in solitary,
My pen is my friend and this I know,
My imagination explodes as my environment proves weary.
Buildings constructed to strip one’s humynity,
Ravaging the mind in ways that leave no physical marks,
The public unaware of this dugeonization,
If this were a physical act my limbs would be fed to sharks.
The situation reacts from such despair,
Our hunger strikes signal a tipping scale,
US history made from a solitary cell,
Heroic act invite censorship of mail.
With this madness of which I speak,
Of the downtrodden, destitute and deceit,
I find my comfort inside my pen,
It’s the realm of ideas where I’m most complete.
Ink flows from my mind and onto these pages,
Creating goodness in prison like igloos in the desert heat,
Bending steel bars so my thoughts may soar,
It becomes a place where paper cuts through concrete.
Antiheroes and archetypes live within my cell,
Blank verse clogs my dreams and sparks new narratives,
Canon works I devour with the appetite of a SHU prisoner,
Would society’s chorus reach a catharsis when reading our comparative?
Comic relief is my true meaning of course,
Diction arrives draped in shackles and razor wire,
The Dramatic monologue echoes off my concrete walls,
Poetry erupts and epiphany in my subconscious like a volcanic fire.