poetry · Uncategorized

The Boy Inside

the boy inside drawing

He whipped his soul,
his entire life,
for what was not his fault.
And now the scars,
from all the wounds,
we’re there for all to see.
I saw the boy,
I saw the whip,
I saw through all the pain.
I told the man,
he was the boy,
and he was not to blame.
The man’s tears fell,
he dropped the whip,
and hugged the little boy.
His burdens fell,
his wounds were healed,
and now he tasted joy.

Literature · poetry · Uncategorized

Wounded Birds

16 years ago, on my first anniversary of incarceration, I walked into a rectangular concrete yard with high walls. The yard was empty except for a pigeon with a broken wing who was in a state of absolute panic.  It was stuck in a frantic cycle of bursting upwards into flight, then crashing into the wall, then falling to the ground, and then trying again… and again… and again.

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Literature · poetry · Uncategorized

The Girl with the Tattered Crimson Dress


We could escape from prison, but we can never escape from ourselves. We could try to distract ourselves from ourselves by flooding our lives with every luxury our hearts desire. We could try to fulfill every fantasy our minds can imagine. We could do all of this and may even feel “happy” for a while, but soon, that hollow feeling, that sharp painful angst, returns.

Continue reading “The Girl with the Tattered Crimson Dress”
Literature · poetry


I finally learned to surrender,
without resistance.

Inner revolution.
White flags swaying calmly in the wind.
The heart, not mind, is king again.

Anxiety and despair,
shadow ministers of the mind,
exiled and banished,
to the outer limits of consciousness.

Nearly forgotten memories returning,
like freed prisoners;
The children are free again!

Sublime surrender echoes
through every fiber of my being.

Thoughts are now like endless rows of soldiers,
all bowing,
in one direction.

Weapons down forever.
The time has come,
for everlasting peace…