by Prison Story Project | May 18, 2018 | Writing
Concrete walls, Concrete floors, Frosted plastic window panels. Half a picnic table against the wall. These walls are white, but if you step into the halls There’s more scenery than you could imagine. At one end of the concrete hall there is a calendar painted....
by Prison Story Project | Apr 15, 2015 | Writing
What does love heal? Love heals the broken-hearted. Love heals the ones that don’t want to live. Love heals broken promises and bad memories. Love heals the ones who have cuts on their wrists. Love heals the ones who take pills to feel happy. Love heals the ones...
by Prison Story Project | Jul 18, 2014 | Writing
If I walk up the street, back from Kum-n-Go to get an Icee with Mountain Dew & cherry mixed, I can see all the getter bug traffic buzzing in the backyard. I decide to make the block, strolling ever-so-casually so as not to attract the police and the Black knights...
by Prison Story Project | Jul 14, 2014 | Writing
I didn’t know I loved the birds soaring through the sky. I didn’t know I loved the smell of the rain or fresh cut grass. I didn’t know I loved the way my mom looks at me or the smell of her perfume. I know I can’t turn back the clock, but I...
by Prison Story Project | Jul 14, 2014 | Writing
I am from a woman who loved a man. I am from a man who wanted a girl, who did not live to see that girl turn three months old. I am from alcohol. I am from running while my mother picked up the closest thing to her, no matter what it was, to throw. I am from confusion...
by Prison Story Project | Mar 6, 2014 | Writing
It was August if I remember right. We had been texting each other all day trying to make plans to hang out. I knew that it wasn’t a good idea and it was wrong for me to want to go, but that lust and want overpowered and won. My phone went off and he said he was...
