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About Time is the national newspaper for Australian prisons and detention facilities

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ISSUE NO. 2

August 2024

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Poetry

You Were Never There

Anonymous

The writer is an incarcerated woman who writes from a prison in Melbourne.

You were never there to tuck me into bed

No, you were never there at night when I was scared

Mama, where were you when I needed you most

Mama tell me why all alone I had to cope

The other kids at school, well they all had a mum

The other kids, the other kids all had someone

I never had a close friend, one to call my own

Someone just to laugh with – I always cried alone

When I needed bandages there was no one round

No-one to feed me chicken soup when I was down

Mama you left me, I might as well have died.

Mama when you left me I wonder if you cried.

Then when I got older the emptiness it grew

In every room, in every crowd I was dying to find you

All the endless, empty bars in this empty city

Faceless people on the streets and roads that hold no pity.

Still alone I travelled following the sun

Each time loneliness came to me I’d just up and run

Mama did I do something wrong, tell me was I bad

To make you give away the little child you had.

You were never there to tuck me into bed

No, you were never there at night when I was scared

Mama, where were you when I needed you most

Mama tell me why all alone I had to cope

The other kids at school, well they all had a mum

The other kids, the other kids all had someone

I never had a close friend, one to call my own

Someone just to laugh with – I always cried alone

When I needed bandages there was no one round

No-one to feed me chicken soup when I was down

Mama you left me, I might as well have died.

Mama when you left me I wonder if you cried.

Then when I got older the emptiness it grew

In every room, in every crowd I was dying to find you

All the endless, empty bars in this empty city

Faceless people on the streets and roads that hold no pity.

Still alone I travelled following the sun

Each time loneliness came to me I’d just up and run

Mama did I do something wrong, tell me was I bad

To make you give away the little child you had.

‘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

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

1 MIN READ

Nostalgia

By Dennis

Nostalgia is a gentle haze, a soft and fading, golden maze, where time itself begins to blur, and memory’s touch is sweet and pure.

Creative

ISSUE NO. 22

1 MIN READ

Art From Inside

By Lanie

Our team was blown away by this beautiful painting.

Creative

ISSUE NO. 21

1 MIN READ