Not Just Words
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Poetry
The voice is beautiful; my lungs fill with a relieved gasp.
I expected a prison sentence.
A feeling of chest tightening, breath weak, metal and voices.
A life of strip searches and beatings.
But I have a table of warmth and empathy, compassion and communication.
An unwavering sense of belief and understanding, with the outcome forever changed for me, and everyone is utterly breathtaking.
A chance, I tell you, at real recovery, support and the understanding of who we are, our background, our life, our everything.
With a simple question. A simple ‘why?’
Which leads to further questions, then genuine support.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Why did you do it?’
The real truth, the further questions.
‘How can we help?’
And help.
I mean, real help.
Homes, counseling, communication, support, warmth, food, clothing, necessities and so much more.
Where the media report on the person behind the story, not a glamorous lie.
Where everyone understands that people need support and help, not hard and forced solitude.
Where governments say ‘no’ to prisons and ‘yes’ to actual help and improvement.
And do it.
Actions, not just words.
The voice is beautiful; my lungs fill with a relieved gasp.
I expected a prison sentence.
A feeling of chest tightening, breath weak, metal and voices.
A life of strip searches and beatings.
But I have a table of warmth and empathy, compassion and communication.
An unwavering sense of belief and understanding, with the outcome forever changed for me, and everyone is utterly breathtaking.
A chance, I tell you, at real recovery, support and the understanding of who we are, our background, our life, our everything.
With a simple question. A simple ‘why?’
Which leads to further questions, then genuine support.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Why did you do it?’
The real truth, the further questions.
‘How can we help?’
And help.
I mean, real help.
Homes, counseling, communication, support, warmth, food, clothing, necessities and so much more.
Where the media report on the person behind the story, not a glamorous lie.
Where everyone understands that people need support and help, not hard and forced solitude.
Where governments say ‘no’ to prisons and ‘yes’ to actual help and improvement.
And do it.
Actions, not just words.
‘Love is Rebuilding My Life’
By Phillip
There’s irony, hypocrisy, fallacy, a vast ocean of distance to cross. The “saint”, the “sinner”, it’s lunacy, that the ignorant could save the lost.
Creative
ISSUE NO. 22
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2 MIN READ
Methfairytale
By Karie
I’m not belle of the ball, not the very least, but we have something in common, I’m in love with a beast. But the beast is not a person but a drug that I call meth, I’ve been talking to myself for hours, I’m running out of breath.
Creative
ISSUE NO. 22
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1 MIN READ
Art From Inside
By Lanie
Our team was blown away by this beautiful painting.
Creative