Tired from being told what to do. I am tired of love, tired of being deemed guilty, tired of my own remorse. I am tired of my own self-doubt, my own shadows and especially tired of my own face.

Hate’s a strong word, but for you it’s reserved. I hate what you’ve taken from me, my parents, my childhood and my glee.

My blue eyes look so drained, but I’m strong, I’ll make it through.

Being in prison is lonely at night. It’s waiting for letters that friends and family forget to write. It’s sitting around with nothing to do just figuring out who is who.

Prison is not fun, prison is not jolly, there’s rarely any smiles and for the tears, bring your brolly. Prison is dirty and prison is hard, lose focus for a minute and get done in the yard.

A delicious recipe from inside.

Life is only short my son, with so many paths to take, life is an uphill struggle, with every step you make. That’s why you must treasure life, with every second of the day, because you may never know, when it’s your turn to go away.

I dream, and think, and feel from the opposite side of the city, in a cell of grey and steel, about our home – peaceful and pretty.

The outside on the inside, steals passion for fun. When arrows come from far and wide, facing the new shiny sun, with dignity. There are ribbons in the fire, and lives still painfully on hold. Beneath the folds of desire, the barred windows still remain cold indefinitely.

I’ve done almost 10 years in prison and I’m totally done with it now and can’t wait to be out away from this place.