INMATE POEMS

“Questions?” a poem- By William Morgan

“Who do they expect me to be?I can only think progress,I digest,digress, My stress level’s ludicrous, The Haze keeps it down,Meanwhile my inside grind holds me down,
Late night’s I’ve found revolving doors,My desires like five foot four,rock-in Victoria’s,or Juicy Couture, I got Encore converse,spent many night’s sliding down I-80,or Grand Concourse, trying to acquire the Porsche and Lexus from the obvious adverse way,

Coming up from the ‘Holy city’ it’s only one way,Tunnel mentality,Like A Crop-duster I’m fumigating tragedy’s until they become normal,My attires informal,no suits and ties,The only people wearing suits and ties on my side is the Federal alphabet team,and every human being that I’ve seen come in contact with them ends up being latent,or unseen,

So who do they expect me to be in here? Where is the celebration of Manhood?
The fact is that I’ve stood on my “Square”,and dared them to dare me to pursue a few nickles,What’s 50cent in here?-A few kosher pickles,bags of rices,like Cambodian delight’s with Salmon slices,Multiply that 100 times,And abracadabra-Air Nike’s and Media fare! Living off the land is what we do when the going get’s tough down there,

Where? Somewhere in the darkness,the Cause is just,My son has needs,Single mother she conceived, Through the wires like Kanye West I provide Necessity’s, Blessings as they may be,But I keep hearing these rhetorical questions lingering like,Who do they expect me to be?
What do they expect me to think about the future?I make progress they rebuke you,I hustle they move you,One man get’s released,the judge slams down the Gavel, they lose two,

So who do they expect me to be in here?What type of plan?What type of title? I encounter a lot of dudes with double digit numbers,I see most of them Idle,White flags waving,Hearts already caved in,like cave men,saved men,some proclaim,yet I don’t see the same,I see drones,and freeze frames,Lames taking shelter behind books like war-time bunkers,
And outside while I’m working out,and doing these pullup’s in set’s of ten by two’s,and while my burpees are doing the “fool”,I keep hearing rifles take aim at mannequins who’s names mimicked the same as my own,

or maybe it’s the clothes that they model? Me,I follow no protocol,In fact I’m contemplating on consuming some of this alcohol to free up like 17 out of 24,and that’s hours,surely my consciousness devours my demeanor,
And I’m a man,sometimes I just want to hug her and squeeze her,I need her to win this Chess game,so who am I supposed to look towards to tame my desires?Mentally I fire off rockets paying tributes to my days on top of the mountains,Never in need of photo’s,I’m solo flight like I came in,or like this Dialogue I’m exchanging, Visions I’m Framing out of a urban window pane, but when I finally leave this foreign exchange who do they expect me to change into? A super hero like DC comics? I promise next time to plan ahead before I dread, or before I’m misled, I’ve gotta get ahead! Who do they expect me to be”?

William Morgan
DOC #561-985

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