The Scratches Say "I Love Jason"

Sun, 11/30/2014 - 18:53 -- kad0188

The real me is like the real you.

Sitting behind the scratched, glass pane         separating us,

In our once a week, twenty-minute-monitored conversation.

As we speak through the coils of a half-

                                                                             broken phone,

And the guards with Tasers at their hip,

Who the little kids point sticky fingers at,

Because they believe they are real:


Keep their eyes on us and six others to make sure you DON'T GET OUT.


The real me is like the real you.

Wanting to hold freedom in your hands,

Needing to breath fresh air that is

Waiting TEN yards out the door,

Taunting you with fake conceptions that you might be:

                                                                                     Accepted. Ha.

The real me is like the real you

Locked away from an outside world and told:


Longing to know if your voidable condition will become:






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