Creative

There is a place not far from Flinders Street Station, along the bank of the Yarra River, that’s at the centre of everything I love about Melbourne.

A sweet treat using buy-up staples.

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.