How did I get here? I wish I could take
back what I did. But I can’t seem to remember exactly
how it happened.
I wonder this each day as I walk up to
the bulletproof glass.
The woman behind the glass looks up, buzzes
“Thank you,” I say, knowing
it’s better to get along than end up in solitary.
She nods in response. The door claps closed
behind me, finality echoing its peace.
I walk through the corridors, seeing so
many here for life. And they know it. They have accepted their
But I cannot accept this. The small spark
in my soul urges me to stay hopeful. Some day. Some day things
will be different. I will get out and I will have my life
When I get to my place, I study it. Blue
chair, grey table, a photo of my nephew taped to the wall.
He visits me sometimes. Those are good days. There’s
a book on the table. I’m teaching myself HTML. It helps
keep my mind from numbing.
Sometimes I look back and then I remember,
sometimes I remember what happened.
I put on myself.