This section publishes creative contributions mostly from currently and formerly incarcerated people. It includes short-stories, poetry, creative nonfiction, art, and much more.
If you have something creative to submit to us, we would love to read it, or see it, and publish it in About Time – please write to us!
After all his team had been through to get here, physically and mentally, the farm boys were disrespecting them big time. “Only one way to shut their gobs,” he thought with venom.
When the light returns and the long night fades, and dawn slips soft through shadowed shades, you feel the hush before the day – a whisper of grace that finds its way.
They expect us to play ball, but always move the goalposts. They expect us to hold boundaries, the same they overstep. They want us to abide, but break their own rules.
Christmas day without my family, was such a terrible burden to bare, no Christmas tree, decorations, no presents, no laughter, no joy, no Christmas fare.
Every feeling they felt, the other feels too, trust is a must and communication too. Together as one, soulmates we are destined, forever to each other we are.
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart. The day they put me in prison, my whole world fell apart.
Lights on, doors slam, go running to the phone. Dial the number hit the hash, and wonder if they're home. Spend the first minute saying hello, fight to say a word. Tell them that you love them and hope that you are heard.
It's about time, I outline, the walls we're within. No doubts fly, no routes fine, the way I'm living.
There is a kind of peace that comes with routine. A familiarity that numbs you to the monotony of everyday life.
To me it means hard work and rough times, you have to work for what you want and there will always be barriers and things/people trying to bring you down.
Most of the day in school I would spend in art as my teacher Mrs Crawford was the only one that seemed to understand me and get my ADHD. She made me feel equal.
Alone in a world of darkness and pain. The world there outside, I don't see the rain. Is the sun shining brightly? I really don't know. There's no place to turn and nowhere to go.
Icy fingers clawed the nape of the old man’s neck as swirling wind whipped up dust and debris into Jack’s tired weathered face.
I see the pain in your lost eyes, and see, all your life ends in cries.
My whispers every night never reached you it seems. Now I only see you in my vivid dreams.
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Help us get About Time off the ground. All donations are tax deductible and will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
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