Tywan Osborne

Prisoner’s who waste time by: Tywan Osborne

Is anyone ever wondering what’s going on in prison? Where some of the most dangerous people in society has been placed, to either perpetuate the same criminal behavior that brought them to prison, or to elevate their minds to a place to where prison has become nothing less than a process of human development. Unfortunately, for most prisoner’s this has become an insane asslym. Drug use is prevalent, violence is not as high as most people would like to think, because the gangs have been pacified with pacifications such as: Cable, video games, food from outside vendors, and tablets which allows them to connect and communicate with the outside world. What I say to that is, do whatever’s necessary to preserve life for the one who deserves a second chance. Anyway, other that the majority, Like 85%, Talks on the phone, play games, like tag running around laughing and joking, remind you, that the prisons are now being filled with fatherless babies, who never had a childhood growing up, so what better time than now, for them to freely express that surpressed childish nature. The guards don’t even take the prisoner’s serious, now every once in a while their might be a serious incident that occurs, but for the most part prison is filled with people who are just waiting to get out. So if you have someone who is incarcerated, ask them, how is your time being spent. Don’t be surprised if they say, I’m just waiting to come home, which equates to time being wasted!!!

Tywan Osborne
DOC #530-165

aka Utowia Lumumba.

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4 replies »

  1. I found the following both chilling and perceptive. After it I’ve added a short poem that seems to resonate with it. Love & Peace.

    “the prisons are now being filled with fatherless babies, who never had a childhood growing up, so what better time than now, for them to freely express that surpressed childish nature”

    ‘As Bad as a Mile’ by Philip Larkin

    Watching the shied core
    Striking the basket, skidding across the floor,
    Shows less and less of luck, and more and more

    Of failure spreading back up the arm
    Earlier and earlier, the unraised hand calm,
    The apple unbitten in the palm.

    Like

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